presented  By 

DAD  GI.ARKE 

X«  tkc  Jinnistaii  Orotto  Library 


A  CROOKED  PATH 


St 


MRS.   ALEXANDER,  p>S<^kj  J. 

L-  AIJTHOR  OF  ':^^'— '  y> 


••THE  WOOING  O'T,"   "A  LIFE  INTEREST" 
"BUND  FATE,"  ETC. 


^/ 


^^^^Zu/s/^-, 


"PremeaUA  By 

DAD  GLARKBf 

T©  the  Jiamsian  Grotto  Library 

New  York: 

WM.    L.    ALLISON    COMPANY, 

Publishers, 


The  McGeorcc  PniHTiita  Co.,  220-222  William  St.,  New  York. 


Presented  By 

DAB  CLARKE 

X.  the  JiBHistaii  Grotto  library 


,^    CROOKED    PATH. 


CHAPTER  I. 
"gatheeing  clouds.'* 


The  London  season  had  not  yet  reached  its  height,  some  years  ago, 
before  the  arch  admitting  to  Constitution  Hill  had  been  swept  back 
to  make  room  for  the  hug-e,  ever-increasing  stream  of  traffic,  or  the 
plebeian  'bus  had  been  permitted  to  penetrate  the  pi-ecincts  of  Hamil- 
ton Place.  It  was  the  forenoon  of  a  splendid  day,  one  of  the  earliest 
of  June,  and  at  that  hour  the  roadwaj'  between  the  entrance  to  H^de 
Park  and  the  gate  then  surmounted  by  the  statue  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  on  his  drooping  steed  was  e</tiparati\'ely  free,  when  two 
gentlemen  coming  from  opposite  directions  recognized  each  other, 
and  paused  at  the  gate  of  Apsley  House— the  elder,  a  stout,  florid 
man  of  military  aspect,  middle  age,  and  average  height,  with  large 
gray  mustache  and  small,  slightly  bloodshot  eyes ;  the  younger, 
who  was  tall  and  bony,  might  have  been  thirty,  or  even  'forty,  so 
grave  and  sjdate  \\"as  his  bearing,  although  his  erect  carriage, 
elastic  step,  and  clear  keen  dark  eyes  suggested  earlier  manhood. 

Both  had  the  indescribable  well-groomed,  freshly  bathed  look 
peculiar  to  Englishmen  of  the  "upper  ten." 

"Ha!  Errington  !  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  town.  I  thought 
you  wei'e  cruising  somewhere  with  Melford,  or  rusticating  at  Garston 
Hall.    I  think  your  father  expected  you  about  this  time." 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  was  summoned  by  telegraph  from  Paris. 
My  father  was  seized  with  a  paralysis  last  week .  He  had  just  come  up 
to  town,  and  for  a  few  days  was  dangerously  ill,  but  is  now  slowly 
recovering." 

"  Very  sorry  to  hear  of  it.  A  man  of  his  stamp  would  have  been 
of  immense  value  to  the  country .  He  had  begun  to  take  a  very 
leading  part  in  local  matters.    I  trust  he  will  come  round." 

' '  I  fear  he  will  never  be  the  same  again.  I  doubt  if  he  will  be  able 
to  direct  his  own  affairs  as  he  used." 


2136987 


6  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  That's  bad !    You  are  not  in  the  business,  I  believe  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  never  took  any  part  in  it.  1  almost  regret  I  did  not.  It 
would,  I  imag'ine,  be  a  relief  to  my  father,  now  that  his  mind  is  less 
clear,  to  know  that  I  was  at  the  helm.  But  we  have  a  capital  man 
as  manag-er,  quite  devoted  to  the  house.  I  shall  get  my  father  down 
to  the  country  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  1  trust  he'll  come  round." 

"  No  doubt' he  will.  He  was  wonderfully  hale  and  strong*  for  his 
years." 

"Ay  !  how  d'ye  do,  Bertie?"  interrupted  the  lirst  speaker,  holding" 
out  his  hand  to  a  young"  man  who  came  up  from  Hyde  Park  and 
seemed  about  to  pass  with  a  smile  and  a  nod.  "Who  would  have 
thought  of  meeting"  you  in  these  godless  regions?  I  hear  you  are 
busy  'slumming  '  from  mornin""  till  night." 

"'Well,  Colonel,"  returned  Bertie— a  slight,  fair,  boyish  looking 
man— "I  am  so  far  false  to  my  new  vocation  as  to  have  lost  some 
irrevocable  moments  looking  at  the  horses  and  horsewomen  in  the 
Eow." 

"Aha  1  the  old  leaven,  my  dear  boy!  You  are  on  the  brink  of 
perdition.— Don't  you  know  Bertie  Payne?"  he  continued,  to  his 
newly  met  friend.  "  He  was  one  of  my  subs  before  he  r'^nounced 
the  devil  and  all  his  works.  He  was  with  us  at  Barrackbore  when 
you  were  in  India." 

"  I  do  not  think  we  have  met,"  the  other  Avas  beginning,  when  a 
young  lady — toward  whom  the  Colonel  had  aire  ady  cast  some  sharp, 
admirin""  glances  as  she  stood  on  the  curbstone  holding  a  hand  of 
the  smaller  of  two  little  bovs  in  smart  sailor  suits— uttered  a  cry  of 
dismay.  The  elder  child  had  rushed  into  the  road,  as  if  to  stop  a 
passing  omnibus,  not  seeirig  that  a  hansom  was  coming  up  at  .sj),'ed. 

The  young  man  called  Bertie  da.slii'd  forward,  and  barely  suc- 
ceeded in  snatching  the  child  from  under  the  Avheel.  A  scramble  of 
horses'  feet,  an  imprecation  or  two  shouted  by  the  irritated  driver,  a 
noisy  declaration  from  the  "fare  "that  he  should  losb  his  train,  and 
the  scuffle  was  over. 

The  little  man,  held  firmly  by  the  shoulder,  was  marched  back  to 
his  young  guardian. 

""^Thank  vou  !— oh,  thank  you  a  thousand  times  !  You  have  save4 
his  life  !"  she  exclaimed,  fervently,  in  unsteady  tones.  Then  to  the 
child:  "How  could  you  break  your  promi.se  "to  stay  by  me,  Cecil? 
You  would  have  been  killed  but" for  this  gentleman  !" 

"I  wanted  to  catch  the  '  omlibus '  for  you,  auntie  !"  he  cried,  with 
an  irrepressible  sob,  though  he  gallantly  tri.  d  to  hold  back  his  tears. 

"  Hope  the  little  fellow  is  none  the  worse  of  his  fright,"  said  i he 
Colonel,  advancing  and  raising  his  hat.  Can  1  be  of  any  use  ?— can 
I  call  a  cab?" 

"No,  thank  you  ;  I  will  take  an  omnibus  and  get  home  as  soon  as 
I  can.    Cecil  will  soon  for""et  his  fright,  I  fear—" 

" Sooner  than  you  will,'  remarked  Bertie.  "There  is  a  Royal  Oak 
omnibus.     Will  that  do?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

"  Come  along,  then,  my  young  man  ;  I  will  not  let  you  go." 
Bertie  put  the  trio  into  the  vehicle,  and  the  lookers-on  saw  that  he 
shook  hands  with  "auntie"  as  the  conductor  jumped  on  his  perch 
and  they  rolled  on. 


<  t  A  CROOKED  PATH.  7 

'  "  Gad !  there's  a  chance  for  you  !"  cried  the  Colonel  as  Bertie 
joined  him.  "  An  uncommon  Mne  g-irl,  by  Georg"e  !  What  a  color- 
ing I  and  a  splendid  pair  of  blacl<  eyes  !" 

"  1  suspect  extreme  fright  did  a  good  deal  for  both,  poor  g'irl.  Her 
eyes  are  brown,  not  black." 

"  Brown  !    Nonsense  !    Didn't  nou  think  they  were  black  ?" 

"I  did  not  observe  them,"  returned  the  g-rave  personag-e  head- 
dressed,  indifferently.  "  The  boy  had  a  narrow  escape.  I  must  say 
good  morning","  he  added. 

"Stop  a  bit,"  cried  the  Colonel.  "  I  must  see  you  again  before 
you  leave  town.  Dine  with  ni^  to-morrow  at  thj  Junior.  And, 
Bertie—" 

"Thanks,  no,  I  am  eng-agvd."    He  said  g'ood-by  and  walked  on. 

"Queer  fellow  that,"  said  the  Colonel,  looking  after  him.  "He 
g"ot  into  some  money  troubles  in  India,  left  the  a>niy,  and  got  con- 
verted. Now  ho  is  not  exactly  a  Salvation  soldier,  but  sometliiiig  of 
the  idnd.  H(;'ll  b.j  at  you  one  of  the  days  for  a  subscripti  n  to  con- 
vert the  crossing  sweejxirs  or  some  such  undertaking.  But  you'll 
dine  with  me  to-morrow.     I'll  tell  you  all  the  Clayshife  g'ossipr" 

"  Thank  3^ou,  I  shall  be  very  happy." 

"  Th>n  good-by  for  the  present.  I  am  engaged  to  lunch  to  meet 
one  of  the  prettiest  little  widows  you  ever  saw  in  your  life,  but  she 
has  no  cash.  Here,  hansom,"  calling  to  the  driver  of  a  cab  which 
was  passing  slowlv.     "  I  am  a  little  late."    He  jumped  in  and  drove 

oir. 

His  friend,  with  a  slight  grave  smile,  continued  his  walk  to  the 
Alexandria  Hotel,  the  portals  of  which  received  him. 

Meantime  the  hero  of  the  cab  incident  sat  very  demurely  by  his 
young  aunt,  as  the  omnibus  rolled  slowly  up  Park  Lane,  occasion- 
ally stealing  inquisitive  g-lances  at  her  face. 

"  You  have  be<;n  a  verii  naughty  boy,  Cecil !"  she  exclaimed  as 
her  eyes  met  his.  "How  could  I  have  gone  home  to  mamma  if  I 
had  been  obliged  to  leave  you  behind  ?" 

"  But  you  needn't,  you  know  :  you  could  have  tied  me  up  in  a 
bundle  and  taken  me  back.  Mamma  would  have  known  it  wasn't 
your  fault." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  and  you  have  made  poor  Charlie  cry" — 
drawing  the  younger  boy  to  her  side. 

"  Charlie  is  just  a  baby,'  contemptuously. 

"  He  is  a  better  boy  than  \'ou  are  "    Silence. 

"Auntie,  do  you  tliink  the  gentleman  who  pulled  me  back  was  the 
old  gentleman's  .son  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  he  was. 

"Why  don't  you,  auntie?" 

"I  can  hardly  say  why." 

"I  have  seen  that  gentleman— the  old  gentleman— in  Kensington 
Gardens,"  said  little  Charlie,  nestling  up  to  his  aunt.  "HJe  spoke 
to  mammy  the  day  she  took  me  to  feed  the  ducks." 

"I  think  that  i.s  only  a  fancy,  dear." 

"  No ;  I  am  quite  sure." 

"  Oh,  you  ai-e  always  fancying  things ;  you  are  a  silly,"  cried 


8  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Cecil,  now  quite  recovered,  and  turning-  to  kneel  upon  the  seat  that 
he  inig-ht  look  out,  thereby  rubbino-  his  feet  on  the  very  best  "after- 
noon ■'  dress  of  a  severely  respectable  female,  whose  rubicund  face 
expressed'  "drat  the  boy  !"  as  strongly  as  a  face  could. 

The  rest  of  the  journey  was  accomplished  after  the  usual  style  of 
such  travels  when  the  aunt  and  nephews  went  out  together.  Cecil  wa*? 
constantly  rebuked  and  made  to  sit  down,  and  as  constantly  resumed 
his  favorite  Twsition ;  so  that  he  ultimately  reached  home  with  beauti- 
fully dean  shoes,  having-  wiped  "the  dust  ofi'  his  feet  "  effectually  ou 
the  g-armeiits  of  his  fellow-nasseng'ers,  while  his  little  brother  nestled  to 
his  auntie's  side  and  g-azea  observantly  on  his  fellow-travellers,  arriv- 
ing- at  curious  conclusions  respecting-'them,  to  be  afterward  set  forth 
to  thi;  amusement  of  his  hearers. 

L(  aving-  the  omnibus  at  the  Roj-al  Oak,  the  trio  diver"-ed  to  one  of 
the  streets  between  that  well-known  establishment  and  the  Bays- 
water  Road— a  street  which  had  still  a  few  trees  and  small  seini- 
detacl'sd  villas,  with  front  g-ardens  left  at  one  end,  the  relics  of  a 
past  when  Penrhyn  Place  was  "quite  the  country";  while  at  the 
othiT,  bricks,  mortar,  scarolding,  aiid  a  deeply  rutted  roadway  in- 
dica':ed  the  commencement  of  mansions  which  would  soon  swallow 
up  their  humbler  predecessors. 

At  one  of  these  villas,  the  g-arden  of  which  was  tolerably  neat,  the 
little  boys  and  their  aunt  stopped,  and  were  admitted  by  a  smart  but 
not  over-clean  girl,  who  welcomed  the  children  with  a  cheerful, 
"  Well,  Ma.ster  Cecil,  you  are  just  in  nice  time  for  dinner!  Come, 
get  vour  things  off ;  your  g-ran  ma  has  a  treat  for  you." 

"Has  she  :•'    Oh,  what  is  it  ?    Do  tell,  Lottie  !  " 

"  Don't  mind,  dear,  if  you  are  tired  ;  your  morning-gown  will  do 
very  well,  as  we  are  alone." 

""No,  no  ;  I  must  honor  Cecil's  birthday  with  my  best  dress.  These 
trifles  are  important." 

' '  I  supjy.s.:'  so,"  returned  her  daughter,  looking  after  her  gravely,  as 
she  lett  the  room. 

Mrs.  Liddell  was  tall,  and  the  lines  of  her  figure  considerably  en- 
larq-ed.  Yet  she  had  not  quite  lost -the  grace  for  v.'hich  she  was  once 
remarkable.  Her  light  brown  hair  had  a  pale  look  from  the  increas- 
ing- admixture  of  gray,  and  her  blue  eyesseemed  faded  by  much  use. 
It  was  a  kind,  thoughtful,  worn  face  from  which  they  looked,  yet  it 
could  still  smile  brightly. 

"  She  looks  very,  very  tired,''  thought  her  daughter.  "I  must 
make  her  lie  down  if  I  "can  ;  it  is  so  hard  to  make  her  rest !"  She 
too  looked  uneasily  at  the  mass  of  writing  on  the  table,  and  then  went 
away  to  remove  "her  out-door  attire. 

Tfie  birthday  dinner  gave  great  satisfaction.  It  was  crowned  by  a 
plum-pudding,  terrible  as  such  a  compound  must  always  be  in  June  ; 
but  it  was  a  favorite  "goody "with  the  young  hero  of  the  day. 
Grar.dmamma  made  herself  as  agreeable  as  though  she  was  one  of  a 
j)arty  of  wits,  and  drank  her  grand.son"s  health  in  a  bottle  of  choice 
gooseberry,  proposing  it  in  a  "neat  and  appropi-iate "  speech,  which 
gave  rise  to  much  upro.^rious  mirth  and  delight.  At  last  the  feast 
was  over;  the  children  retired  to  amuse  themselves  with  a  horse 
aud  a  wheelbarrow— some  of  the  birthday  gifts— in  the  back  garden 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  9 

(a  wilderness  resig-ned  to  their  ravages),  and  Mrs.  Liddell  and  her 
daug-hter  were  left  alone. 

'•  Now,  mother,  <l-j  coai.^  and  lie  down  on  the  sofa  in  the  dra-  '  f,  • 
room.      I   see   you   are    out   of   sorts.      You  hardly  tasted  i 
and  you  are  dreadfully  tired  ;  come  and  rest.    I  will  read  you  u> 
sleep." 

"  No,  Kate  ;  there  can  be  no  rest  for  me,  my  darlino-,"  returned 
her  mother,  rising-,  and  be^;'inaiiig-  to  put  the  plates  and  classes  to- 

f ether  with  a  nervous  movement.  "1  am  out  of  sorts,  for  I  have 
ad  a  g"  eat  disappointment.  7V.r>  Fcnuhi  Fr'u'r.d  has  refused  my 
three-volume  novel,  and  I  really  have  n  t  th2  heart  to  try  it  any- 
where else  after  such  repeated  r.ijections.  At  the  same  time  Skinner 
«&  Palm  write  to  sav  they  cannot  use  :ny  short  story,  '  On  the  Rack,' 
for  five  or  six  monc"hs,  as  they  have  such  a  quantity  of  already  ac- 
cepted manuscripts." 

"How  provoking"!"  cried  Katherine.  "But  come  away;  the 
dravving'-room  is  cooler  ;  le..  usg*.)  there  and  talk  things  over." 

Mrs.  Liddeil  accepted  the  suc-ge.stion,  and  sank  into  an  arm-chair, 
while  her  daughier  let  down  the  blinds,  and  then  placed  herself  on  a 
lew  ottoman  opposite  her. 

There  was  a  short  silence;  then  Mrs  Li<Well  sighed  and  began: 
"I  counted  so  much  on  tiiat  short  story  for  ready  money  !  Skinner 
always  pays  directly  he  has  published.  Now  I  do  not  know  what  to 
do.  If  I  take  it  back  I  may  fail  to  d!spns3  of  it,  yet  I  cann  t  wait. 
But  the  novel— that  is  tlie  worst  disappointment  of  all.  I  suppose  it 
•was  foojjggh,  but  I  felt  •  »»■'  about  that." 

"Of  course  you  did,"  cried  Katherine,  eag'erly.  *'It  is  an  ex- 
cellent story." 

"It  is  not  worse  than  many  Santley  bring-s  out,"  resumed  Mrs. 
Liddell;  "but  one  is  no  judg'e  of  one's  own  work.  It  was  with  re- 
luctance I  Offered  it  to  Tht-  t'cimih/  Frisiid,  and  you  see—''  her  voice 
falterc  ',  and  she  sUoppad  abi'uptly. 

Katherineknew  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes  and  swelling-  her  heart. 
She  restrained  the  impulse  to  throw  her  arms  round  her  ;  she  feared 
toai"itate  her  mother  ;  rather  she  would  help  her  self-control. 

"Well,  dear,  I  am  no  g-reat  jud.je,  but  1  am  quite  sure  that  such 
a  stoiy  as  yours  must  succeed  sooner  or  later.  So  we  v,'ill  be 
patient."  ' 

"  Ah  !  but,  Katie,  the  landlord  and  the  hiitcher  will  not  wait,  and, 
my  child,  I  have  only  about  live  pounds.  I  made  too  sure  of  suc- 
cess, for  I  did  so  well  last  year.  Th  'n  Madame  de  Corset  Avill  soon 
be  sending"  in  her  bill  for  that  famous  dress  of  Ada's,  and  she  will 
want  the  money  she  lent  me." 

"  Then  Madame  de  Corset  must  wait,"  said  Katherine,  firmly. 
"Ada  is  really  your  debtor.  Where  could  she  live  at  so  small  a  co'st 
as  with  you?  "^  Where  could  she  be  so  free  to  rim  about  without  a 
thought  for  the  children?  What  has  become  of  her?  Couldn't  she 
stay  with  Cecil  on  his  birthday?" 

"She  is  gone  to  luncheon  witii  the  Burnetts.  It  is  as  well  to  keep 
up  with  them  ;  their  influence  mig-ht  be  useful  to  the  boys  hereafter; 
but  I  do  wish  I  could  pay  her." 

"I  wish  you  could,  for  it  would  make  you  happier  ;  but  she  really 
owes  you  ten  pounds  and  more.". 


10  A  CROOKED  PATR 

"  What  shall  I  do  aboxit  that  novel  ?  If  I  could  get  two  hundred— 
even  one  hundred— pounds  for  it,  I  should  do  well.  I  beg-au  to  hope 
I  mig-ht  make  both  ends  meet  with  my  pen.  Oh,  Katie  dear,  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself,  but  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  feel  beaten.  I 
feel  as  if  I  could  not  come  up  to  time  ag-ain.  It  has  been  such  a 
long-,  weary  battle  !"    She  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

•'  I  wish  /  could  g-ive  you  i-est,  darling-  mother  !"  said  Katherine, 
taking  her  hand  and  fondling'  it.  "  I  fear  I  have  been  too  useless— 
too  thoug-htless." 

"  You  have  done  all  you  could,  my  child  ;  one  cannot  expect  much 
from  nineteen.  ButlVish— I  .vish' I  could  think  of  any  nuans  of 
deliverance  from  my  presL'nt  difficulty.  A  small  sum  would  suffice. 
Where  to  lind  it  is  tlie  question.  I  counted  too  much  on  those  un- 
lucky manuscripts,  and  now  I  do  not  know  where  to  turn  ;  I  see  a 
vista  of  debt."    A  sudden  fit  of  coughino-  interrupted  her. 

"  You  have  taken  cold,  mother,"  cried  Kathjrine.  "I  heard  you 
coughing-  this  morning.  I  was  sure  you  would  suffer  for  sitting 
near  the  open  window  in  the  study  last  night  " 

"It  was  so  hot !"  murmured  Mrs.  Liddell,  lying  back  exhausted. 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  also  friglitfully  damp.  Tell  me,  mother,  is  there 
anything  we  can  sell?— anything— "' 

5lrs.  Liddell  interrupted  her.  "  Nothing,  dear.  The  few  jewels  I 
had  preserved  went  when  I  \vas  tr\'ing  to  furnish  this  house.  1 
fancied  we  should  do  well  in  a  house  of  bur  own,  audi  was  so  anxious 
to  make  a  home  for  my  poor  bo\''s  Avidow  !" 

"  When  do  you  expect  anj^  more  money?" 

"Not  for  nearly  two  months,  and  then  another  quarter's  rent  will 
be  due." 

"Mother,"  said  Katherine,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  would  not 
my  father's  brother,  of  whom  I  heard  you  speak,  help  you?  It  is 
dreadful  to  ask,  but  he  is  so  near  a  kinsman,  and  childless." 

"  It  is  iiseless  to  think  of  it.  Ha  and  your  father  quarrelled  about 
money,  and  he  is  implacable.  His  onlv  child,  a  son,  oppos^l  him, 
and  he  drove  him  away.    Poor  fellow  !  he  was  killed  in  Australia." 

"  Why  have  hax'd  hearted  wretches  heaps  of  money,  while  kind, 
g-enerous  souls  like  you  never  have  a  farthing  ?" 

"  That  is  a  mystery  of  long  standing,'^  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  Katie,  I  cannot  think  or  talk  any  more.  1  will  go  and  lie 
down  in  my  own  room.  There  neither  Ada  nor  the  chiklren  can  dis- 
turb me.  Oh,  my  darling,  how  can  I  ever  die  in  peace  if  1  leave 
you  to  do  battle  with  the  bitter,  bitter  world  unprovided  for  ?"  Her 
voice  quivered,  and  the  hand  she  laid  on  her  daughter's  tremliled. 

"  Do  not  fear  for  me,  mother.  I  am  tougher  and  more  sel  isli  than 
you  are.  It  is  time  I  worked  for  you.  llow  feverish  you  are ! 
Come  up  to  your  own  room.  You  will  see  things  ditt'erv'ntly  when 
you  have  had  a  little  sleep.  If  th  '  Avorst  coines,  /  will  tell  Ada  tiiat 
we  must  give  up  the  houss  and  go  back  to  lodgings.  We-  never  liad 
difficulties  before  we  came  here." 

"  No,  for  we  never  had  debts.  Now  I  have,  and  I  have  this  hnus3 
for  nearly  three  years  longer.  It  is  not  so  ea.sy  to  shake  oT  engage- 
ments as'you  would  a  cloak  that  had  grown  too  heavy.  ' 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Liddell  rose  anil  ascended  to  the  ro^m  she  shared 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  '  11 

with  her  daug-hter,  whom  she  allowed  to  take  off  her  dress  and  put 
on  her  wrapper,  to  arrange  her  pillows,  to  bathe  her  brow  in  eau-de- 
coloarne  and  water,  and  soothe  her  with  those  loving"  touches,  those 
tender  cares,  that  the  heart  alone  can  prompt,  till  in  spite  of  the  cloud 
and  thick  darkness  that  hid  her  future,  Mrs.  Liddall  Vas  calmed  by 
the  delicious  sense  of  her  daughter's  love  and  sympathy. 

"I  will  make  a  list  of  editors,"  said  Katherine— "I  mean  those 
whom  you  have  not  tried — and  go  round  to  them  myself.  Perhaps 
I  may  bring  you  luck." 

"  Yes  ;  your  young  life  is  more  likely  to  have  fortune  on  its  side: 
the  fickle  jade  has  forsaken  me." 

Katherine  made  no  reply  beyond  a  gentle  kiss.  She  sat  silently 
by  h3r  mother's  side,  till  feeling'  the  hand  that  held  hers  relax  its 
hold,  she  slowly  and  softly  withdrew  her  own,  comforted  to  perceive 
that  balmy  sleep  had  stolen  upon  the  weary  woman. 

Sriil  tihe  sat  there  thinking  with  all  the  force  of  her  young  brain, 
partly  remembering,  partly  anticipating. 

Of  "her  father  she  had  scarce  any  knowledge.  She  was  but  four 
years  old  when  he  died,  and  her  oniy  brother  was  nearly  fourteen. 
The  eldest  and  youngest  of  Mrs.  Liddell's  children  were  the  survivors 
of  several. 

Katlr^irine's  memory  of  her  childish  davs  pi-esented  the  dim  picture 
of  a  quaint  foreign  town  ;  of  blue  skies,  bright  sunshine,  and  abun- 
dant vegetation ;  of  large  rooms  and  a  smiling  black -eyed  attendant 
in  a  poL-uliar  head-dress  ;  of  some  one  lying  back  in  a'  large  chair, 
near  whom  she  must  never  make  a  noise.  Then  came  a  chanf>-e'; 
m  )!:her  always  in  black,  with  a  white  cap,  and  often  weeping,  and  of 
colder  winters,  snow  and  skating— a  happy  time,  for  she  was  always 
with  mother  both  in  lesson  and  play  time,  whilst  Fred  used  to  go 
aAvay  early  to  school.  Next,  clear  and  distinct,  was  the  recollection 
of  her  first  visit  to  London,  and  from  this  time  she  was  the  com- 
panion and  conhdante  of  her  mother.  They  Avere  poor— at  least 
every  outlay  had  to  be  carefully  considered— but  Katie  never  knew 
the  want  of  money.  Then  came  the  excitement  and  preparation  at- 
tending Fred's  departure  for  India,  the  mixture  of  sorrow  and  satis- 
faction with  which  her  mother  parted  from  him,  of  how  bitterly  she 
had  cried  herself ;  for  though  somewhat  tyrannical,  Fred  had  been 
al>vays  kind  and  generous. 

HoV  well  she  remembered  the  da}^  he  had  left  them  never  to  return 
—how  her  mother  had  clasped  her  to  her  heart  and  exclaimed; 
"  You  must  be  all  in  all  to  me  now,  Katie.  I  have  done  but  little  for 
you  yet,  dear,  Fred  needed  so  much." 

A  .spell  of  happy,  busy  life  in  Germany  followed,  enlivened  by  long 
lett.'rs  from  the  young  Indian  officer,  whose  career  seemed  full  of 
promise.  But  when  Katherine  was  a  little  more  than  thirteen  sor- 
row fell  upon  them.  Fred's  letters  had  become  irregular  ;  then  camo 
a  confession  of  weakness  and  debt,  ci'owned  by  the  supreme  folly  of 
marriage,  concluding  with  a  prayer  for  help. 

Mrs.  Lid'lell  was  cruelly  disappointed.  She  had  hoped  and  ex- 
pected much  from  her  boy.  She  believed  he  was  doing  so  well  !  She 
told  all  to  Katie,  who  heartily  agreed  with  her  that  Fred  must  be 
helped.    Seme  of  their  slender  capital  was  sold  out  and  sent  to  him 


12  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

while  mother  ar.d  dang-hter  cheerfully  accepted  the  loss  of  many 
tritlijig-  indulg\-iiccs,  drawing'  tlie  narrow  limits  of  their  expenditure 
closer  srill,  content  and  free  from  debt,  though  as  time  went  on 
Katherine  cast  many  a  long-ing  glance  at  the  world  of  social  enjoy- 
ment in  whicli  theirY^overty  forbade  her  to  triumph. 

Mrs.  Lidd(!ll  Lad  always  loved  literature,  and  h?r  husband  hal 
been  an  accomplished  though  a  reckless  and  self  indulgent  man. 
She  had  w  andered  a  good  deal  with  him,  and  had  seen  a  great  variety 
of  TA'O]  Ij  and  places.  It  occurred  to  her  to  try  her  p-n  as  a  mearis  of 
adding  to  her  income,  and  after  some  failures  she  succeeded  wit ii  one 
or  two  of  the  smaller  we-ekly  pei'iodicals.  This  induced  her  to  return 
to  London,  hoping  to  do  better  in  that  great  centre  of  work.  Here 
the  tidings  of  her  son's  death  overwhelmed  her.  Next  came  an  im- 
ploring- letter  from  the  young  widow,  who  had  no  near  relative.s, 
pray  hig  to  be  allowed  to  live  with  her  and  Katherine— sharing  ex- 
penses — as  the  pension  to  which  an  officer's  widow  and  orphans  were 
entitled  insured  her  a  small  provision. 

So  Mrs.  Liddell  again  roused  herself,  and  managed  to  furnish  verv 
scantily  the  little  home  where  Kathei-ine  sat  thinking.  But  the  ad- 
dition to  their  income  was  but  meagre  compared  to  the  eypense.s 
which  followed  in  the  train  of  Mrs  Frederic  Liddell  and  her  two 
"lirtle  Indian  boys." 

All  the  efforts  of  the  practical  mother  and  daughter  did  not  suffice 
to  keep  within  the  limits  th?y  dreaded  to  overpass.  Mrs.  Lidd'Hs 
pen  became  more  than  ever  e.ssential  to  the  maint  'nance  of  the 
household,  while  the  younger  widow  considered  herself  a  martyr  to 
the  most  sordid,  the  most  lumecessary  stinginess. 

A  tapping  at  the  door  and  suppressed  childish  lanorhter  called 
Katherine  from  her  thoughts.  She  rose  and  opened  the  door  quickly 
and  softly. 

"Husli,  Cecil!  be  quiet,  Charlie!  poor  grannie  is  asleep.  Come 
with  me  down-stairs  ;  I  will  read  to  you  if  you  like." 

"  Oh  3^es,  do,''  said  Charlie. 

"I  don't  care  for  reading,"  cried  Cecil.     " Can't  you  play  bears?" 

"It  makes  too  much  noise.  I  will  play  it  to-niorrow  if  grand- 
mamma is  better.    Shall  I  tell  you  a  storv  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Cecil ;  "  /  Avill  tell  you  one.^' 

"Very  well.    I  shall  be  delighted  to  hear  it." 

"  I  would  rathcflt  have  you  read,  auntie,"  said  the  little  one. 

"  Never  mind,  Charlie";  I  will  read  to  you  after." 
'  "Shall  we  sit  in  the  garden?    AV'e  have  made  it  quite  clean  and 
tidy." 

"No,  dear  ;  grannie  would  hear  us  there.  Come  into  the  dining'- 
room." 

Established  there,  the  boys  cne  on  each  side  of  her,  Katherine  listened 
to  the  young  story -teller,  who  began  fluently:  "There  was  once 
two  little  boys  callecl  Jimmie  and  Frank.  Frank  was  the  biggest ; 
he  was  very  strong  and  vgry  courageous  ;  and  he  learned  his  lessons 
very  well  when  he  liked,  biit  h.'  did  not  always  like.  The  two  little 
boys  had  an  aunt ;  she  was  nice  and  pleasant  sometimes,  but  more 
times  she  was  cross  and  disa!i"reenl>le.  and  she  spoiled  Jimmie  a  great 
deal.    One  day  they  ^^■ent  out  to  walk  a  long  way,  and  saw  lots  of 


^  CROOKED  PATH.  13 

people  riding,  and  Jiramie  grew  tired,  and  so  did  Frank,  but  Frank 
would  not  complain,  and  tSeir  auut  was  so  unkind  that  she  would 
not  call  a  hansom ;  so  when  they  came  to  a  great  street  Frank 
thought  he  would  catch  an  omnibus,  and  he  ran  out  quick— quiclc. 
He  would  have  caught  it,  but  his  aunt  was  so  silly  arid  such  a  cow- 
ard that  she  sent  a  man  after  him,  v/ho  n  'nrly  dragged  him  under 
the  feet  of  a  horse  thai  was  coming  up.  n-d  they  would  both  have 
been  killed  if  Frank  had  not  called  out  to  dij  cabman  to  stop." 

"Oh,  Cecil,  that  is  you  and  I.  IVh'ii  a  story  !  Auntie  is  not  un- 
kind, and  you  did  not  call  out,"  cried  Charlie. 

Katharine  corJd  not  help  laughing  at  the  little  monkey's  version 
of  the  incident. 

"  Cecil,  Cecil,  you  must  learn  to  tell  the  truth—"  she  was  begin- 
ning-, when  the  door  was  opcmed,  and  a  small,  slight  lady  in  black 
silk,  with  a  profusion  of  delicate  grav  ribbons,  jet  trimmiiig,  and 
foamy  white  tulle  rudiing,  stood  in  tlie  doorway.  She  was  viry 
fair,  wirh  light  ey<\s,  a  soft  pink  color,  and  pale  golden  brown  hair 
— altogether'daintilj'  pretty, 

"  Oh,  mammy  !  mammy  !  where  ha;'e  you  been  all  my  birthday  ?" 
cried  ihe  elder  boy,  risshiiig  to  her. 

"  Mj'  own  precious  darling,  do  not  put  your  dear  dirty  little  paws 
on  my  dress  I"  she  exclaimed,  in  alarm.  "'•!  was  ohH^^ed  to  go,  my 
boy  ;"JbutI  have  br  mght  you  a  ba"'  of  SAveets  ;  it  is  in  the  hall. 
Dear  me  !  how  stu  I'y  this  room  is  !  Mrs.  liuniet'.'s  h  )'iiS3  is  i-o  cool 
and  fresh  !  Jt  looks  into  a  charming  gard.n  at  the  back  ;  and  oh. 
how  delightful  it  must  be  to  be  ricii !"  She  hid  advanced  into  the 
room  as  she  spoke,  and  began  to  untie  and  ."^m  )c>th  out  her  bonnet 
strings. 

"It  must  indeed,"  returm^I  Katlierine,  wi.'h  a  dc;ep  sigh. 

"I  will  go  and  put  on  an  uld  dress  ;  this  one-  i.s  too  pretty  to  spoil, 
and  the  house  is  .■,..  dusty.     Do  you  think  it  Ix-comi-ig-,  Katherine?" 

"  Yes,  very  "—with  an  indulgent  smile.  "  You  ought  always  to 
wear  haU'-mourning  ;  it  suits  you  admirably." 

"  1  think  it  does  •  but  I  must  put  it  of  some  day,  you  know. 
Cecil  dear,  go  and  ask  cook  to  make  me  a  cup  of  tea.  ^  I  will  havei  it 
up  in  my  room.  Charlie,  don't  cuddle  up  against;  your  aunt  in  tliat 
way;  it^nakes  her  too  hot,  and  you  will  grow  crooked."  Charlie 
jumped  down  from  his  chair  and  held  up  his  face. 

'' Th(!re,  dear,"  giving  a  hasty  kiss.     "Don't  worry." 

"  Mammy,"  said  Cecil,  with  much  solemnitv,  "  I  was  nearly  killed 
to-flay." 

"Nonsense,  dear!  This  is  one  of  your  wonderful  inventions. 
What  does  he  mean,  Katherine?" 

*•  He  might  have  been.  He  darted  from  me  at  Hyde  Park  Corner, 
intendin  ;•  to  catch  an  omnibus,  and  would  have  been  run  over  if  a 
gentleman  had  not  snatclijd  him  from  under  the  horses'  feet." 


"  My  precious  boy  !''  laying  her  hand  on  'his  head,  but  keepin" 
him  at  a  distance.  "How  wrong  of  you,  Katherine,  to  let  his  hanS 
go!" 

"  I  did  not  let  it  go :  I  was  not  holding  it,"  returned  KatXerinc, 
dryly. 

"  At  Hyde  Park  Corner?"  pursued  Mrs.  FredericLiddell,eaferIy 
*•  Was  the  gentleman  soldierly ^iid  stout,  with  gray  mustaches'?" 


14  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

*'  No.    He  was  young:  and  slie-ht  and  clean-shaved." 

"That  is  curious  ;  for  Colonel  Ormonde  was  sayings  at  luncheon 
to-day  that  he  had  saved,  or  helped  to  save,  such  a  pretty  little  boy 
from  bein<>"  run  over.  I  dont  exactly  remember  what  "he  said.  1 
was  listeninf^  to  Mrs.  De  Vere  Hopkins,  and  Mrs.  Burnett's  boy  was 
ma'^in"-  a  noise.  Colonel  Ormonde  said  he  was  just  like  a"  little 
fellow  he  had  seen  nearly  run  over  that  morning".  I  am  sure  Tom 
Burnett  is  not  half  as  handsome  as  my  Cecil." 

"  I  should  not  have  been  run  over  if  auntie  had  left  me  alone." 

"  Go  and  get  mother's  tea,  and  you,  Charlie,  fetch  luu-  some  nice 
bread  and  butter,"  said  Katherine,  who,  thoug-h  six  or  seven  years 
her  sister-in-law's  junior,  looked  at  first  sight  older.  "  There  iras  an 
elderly  gentleman  such  as  you  describe,  talking  with  the  young  man 
who  rescued  Cecil,  and  he  was  very  polite  and  int(!rested  in  Cecil, 
who  broke  away  from  me,  though"  he  had  promised  to  stay  by  my 
side." 

"Promised,"  repeated  Mrs.  Frederic,  lightly,  and  carefidly  dust- 
ing her  bonnet  with  her  handkerchief.  "  What  can  you  expect  from 
a  child's  promise?    But  poor  Cecil  rarely  docs  right  in  your  eyes." 

"  Nonsens:;,  Ada !" 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  very  ob.servant.  But  tell  me,  did  Colonel 
Ormonde  take  much  notice  of  Cecil  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  was  too  much  frightened  to  see  anything  but 
the  (iear  child  himself." 

Mrs.  Frederic  did  not  reply  for  a  moment ;  she  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing deeply.  "Where  did  you  get  those  flowers— those  you  bought 
on  Saturday  for  sixpence  ?" 

"Oh!  at  the  little  llorist's  on  Queen's  Road.  It  was  late  in  the 
evening,  you  know,  or  they  would  not  have  been  so  cheap." 

"I  shoiild  like  some  to-raorrow  to  make  the  drawing-room  look 
pretty,  if  possible,  for  Colonel  Ormonde  said  he  would  call.  He 
•wishes  to  see  some  of  my  Otocammed  photographs.  Heigho  !  it  is  a 
miserable  place  to  receive  any  one  in. ' 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  must  do." 

"Really,  Katherine,  you  are  very  unsympathetic.  If  you  have 
a  fault,  dear,  it  is  sel.Hsliness.    You'don't  mind  my  saying  so?" 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.    I  am  thankful  for  the  '  if.'  " 

•'  Where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"Lying  down.     She  is  tired,  and  has  a  horrid  headache." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  toiling  from  morning  till  night  for 
those  wretched  papers.  I  was  telling  Mrs.  Burnett  to-day  that  my 
mother-in-law  was  an  authoress,  but  when  I  mentioned  ttiat  she 
wrote  \or  Till  %'annly  Friend  and  The  Clx irful  I  (ViVo/',  Lady  Ever- 
ton,  who  write;  im  The  Court  Journal  and  various  grand  tHings  of 
that  ivind,  said  they  were  miite  low  jmblications,  and  never  got 
higher  than  the  servants'  hall." 

"  You  need  not  have  gone  into  particulars,  Ada.  Whether  my 
mother  writes  well  or  ill.  the  pressure  on  her  is  too  g»eat  to 
allow  of  her  picking  or  choosing  ;  she  must  catch  •■'.t  the  quickest 
market." 

"  I'm  sure  it  is  a  great  pity.  That  is  the  reason  I  stay  on  here, 
and  let  you  teach  Cis  and  Charlie,  though  Colonel  Ormonde  says  the 
sooner  boys  are  out  of  a  woman's  hands  the  better." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  15 

"If  Colonel  Ormonde  is  the  old  man  I  saw  this  morning",  he  looks 
more  capable  of  judging  a  dinner  than  what  is  the  best  training  for 
youth." 

"  Old  !"  screamed  the  pretty  wi^jw.  "  He  is  not  old  ;  he  is  only 
mature.  He  is  very  well  off,  too.  He  has  a  place  in  the  country. 
And  as  to  mentioning  those  papers,  I  know  notaing  of  such  things. 
The  Nineteenih  Century,  or  Bow  Bells,  or  The  Family  Friend,  they 
are  all  the  same  to  me.  Only  I  am  sure  such  a  nice  lady -like  woman 
as  Mrs.  Liddell  should  not  write  for  the  servants'  hall.  She  must 
have  been  so  handsomo,  too  !  Fred,  poor  fellow,  was  her  image.  You 
will  never  be  so  good-looking,  Kate." 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall,"  returned  Katherine,  with  much 
equanimity. 

"Are  there  any  letters  fsr  me?"  asked  Mrs.  Frederic,  looking 
round  as  she  lifted  her  bonnet  from  the  table. 

"Here  are  two." 

"Ah  !  this  is  from  Harry  Vigors.  I  suppose  he  is  coming  home. 
And  oh  !  this  is  Madame  de  Corset's  bill  "—putting  down  her  bonnet 
and  opening  it.  "Eleven  pounds  seventeen  and  ninepence-half- 
penny.  Whv,  this  is  abominable  !  She  promised  it  should  not  be 
much  more  tnan  ten  pounds.  There  is  live  per  cent  off  for  ready 
money.  Oh,  I'll  pay  it  immediately.  How  much  will  that  bo  alto- 
gether, Kate  ?  Eleven  shillings  ?  "Well,  that  is  worth  saving,  rt 
will  buy  me  two  pairs  of  gloves.  Now  I'll  go  and  rest.  Tell  me  wheu 
Mrs.  Liddell  is  awake." 


CHAPTER  n. 

BREAKWG  NEW  GROUND. 

Katherine  took  care  that  her  sister-in-law  should  not  have  an 
opportunity  of  private  conversation  with  Mrs.  Liddell,  that  evening 
at  least. 

She  rolled  up  and  arranged  the  disordered  manuscripts,  putting 
the  small  sti.dy  in  order,  and  locking  away  the  rejected  tales.  Then 
she  proposed  conducting  the  young  widow  to  the  florist's,  as  the 
evening  grew  cooler,  and  made  herself  agreeable  by  listening 
attentively  to  the  little  woman's  description  of  the  luncheon  partv, 
and  her  repetition  of  all  the  pretty  things  said  to  h^n-  by  tfia 
various  gentlemen  present,  especially  by  Colonel  Ormonde. 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  mind  their  nonsense,  but  however  my  h^'art 
mfiy  cling  to  dear  Fred's  memory,  I  must  think  of  m.y  precious 
boys,"  was  her  conclusion.  To  which  Katherine  answered,  "Of 
course,"  as  she  would  hnw  answered  any  proj^osition,  however  wild, 
provided  only  she  could  save  her  mother  from  worry,  at  least  for  that 
evening. 

Next  day  was  showery  and  dull.  True  to  her  resolution,  Katherine 
put  her  mother's  lucubrations  into  their  covers,  and  prepared  to  start 
on  her  projected  round. 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  ought  to  let  you  go,  Katie  dpar  "  said  Mrs. 


16  A  CROOKED  PATH 

Liddell,  as  her  daug-hter  came  into  the  study  in  hor  outdoor  dress. 
"  It  is  rather  a  wild  g-ooso  chase.  Why  should  you  succeed  for  me 
whv'ii  I  have  faikd  for  myself?  Besides,  |wrsoiial  interviews  are  of 
r.o  avail.  No  editor  willtake  work  that  does  not  suit  him,  however 
iu'eresting-  the  aj.pHcant." 

'•Nevertheiobs  1  will  2"o.  I  shall  brinar  a  new  elemtnt  into  the 
i'.us'ness,  and  I  mayhemcky  !  Why  have  you  plum^rd  into  these 
horrid  accoiuits?"  pointing-  to  a  jiUrof  .small  books,  and  a  sheaf  of 
backs  of  letters  scribbled  over  with  calculations.  "This  is  not  the 
wa'-  to  cheer  yourself." 

'■  Aly  love,  it  is  a  change  of  occupation,  at  least,  to  revert  to  the  old 
yet  ever  new  probkm  of  Ufe — how  to  extrac  thirty'  shillings  from  a 
sovereign.  I  am  trying  to  see  where  we  can  possibly  retrench.  What 
is  Ada  doing  l-"' 

''  She  is  decking  the  drawing-room  and  herself  for  the  reception  of 
Colonel  Ormonde,  who  is  coming  to  afternoon  tea." 

"  What,  already?" 

"She  is  quite  "excited,  I  assure  you.  Is  it  not  soon  to  think 
of " 

"Do not  judge  her  harshly.  She  is  a  woman  not  made  to  live 
alone.  In  due  time  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  her  happily  married,  for 
she  iriJl  marry." 

"  Tell  me,  is  that  irreconcilable  uncle  of  mine  really  still  alive? 
How  long  is  it  since  you  heard  anything  of  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  more  than  six  or  seven  years.  But  I  am  sure  he  is  alive. 
I  should  have  heard  of  his  death.  I  suppose  he  is  still  living  on  in 
Camden  Town." 

"Not  a  very  agreeable  miarter,"  returned  Katherine,  carelessly. 
"  Good-by,  mother  dear  !  Do  not  expect  me  to  dinner.  I  can  have 
something  whenever  I  come  in." 

Katherine  walked  briskly  toward  town,  intendin""  to  save  some  of 
her  omnibus  fare,  for  she  had  planned  a  long  and  daring  expexiif  ion 
—  an  undertaldng  which  taxed  all  hc'r  courage.  In  truth,  though 
she  had  never  known  the  ease  or  lu\;iry  of  wealth,  she  had  been 
most  tenderly  brought  up.  Her  mother  had  constantly  shielded  her 
from  all  the  roughness  of  life,  and  the  deed  she  contenijilated 
seemed  to  her  mind  an  almost  desperate  efibrt  of  indep3udent 
action. 

Through  one  of  the  very  few  sleepless  ni^-hts  she  had  ever  exper- 
enced  she  had  thought  out  an  idea  which  nad  Hashed  through  bei 
brain  while  Mrs.  LiddiU  was  explaining  her  difficulties,  and  v.htch 
she  had  carefully  kept  to  herself. 

She  saw  clearly  enougli  the  hopelessness  of  their  position  ;  prob- 
ably with  the  intensity  of  voutn  she  exaggerated  it,  which  was 
scarce!}'  necessary,  as  a  small  rut  is  apt  to  widen  into  a  bottomless 
pit  if  it  crosses  the  path  of  those  wiio  are  living  up  to  the  utmost 
verge  of  a  narrow  income.  As  .she  reviewed  the  endless  irsfanccs  of 
her  mother's  self-abnegation  Avhich  memory  supplied— her  cheerful 
industry,  her  brave  struggle  to  live  like  a  g*e;^Mewomau  on  a  pit- 
tance, Tlier  tender  thought  for  the  welfare  ai^v  happiness  of  her 
children-  she  felt  she  could  walk  through  a  burning  tiei-y  furnace 
if  by  so  doing  she  could  earn  ease  and  repose  for  her  mother's  weary 
spirit. 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  17 

" She  is  looking  ill  and  woi*n,"  thoug-ht  Katherine,  "and  years 
oldor.  Sh3  has  nevar  been  the  same  since  that  attack  of  bronchitis 
last  year.  Ada  and  the  boys  are  too  much  for  her,  though  they  are 
dear'little  fL'llo\vs  ;  but  tliey  are  costly.  If  Ada  would  even  give  us 
twenty  pounds  a  year  more  it  would  be  a  great  help." 

The  project  Karherine  had  evolved  through  the  night-watches 
was  to  visit  her  uncle  and  ask  him,  face  to  face,  for  help  !  It  is,  she 
argued,  harder  to  say  "no "  than  to  write  it ;  even  if  sne  failed  she 
should  know  h  n-  fate  at  once,  and  not  have  to  endure  the  agony  of 
waiting  for  a  1.3. ter.  Nor,  were  she  refused,  need  her  mother  ever 
know  how  she  had  humiliated  herself  in  the  dust. 

How  her  youug  h,!art  sank  within  her  at  the  thought  of  being 
harshly,  contemptuously  rejected  !  It  was  a  positive  painful  physical 
sense  of  faintness  that  made  her  limbs  tremble  as  she  pressed  on 
faster  than  she  was  aware.  "  But  I  will  do  it— I  will !  If  I  succeed 
no  humiliation  will  be  too  great,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  will  speak 
with  all  mv  soul !  When  I  begin,  this  horrible  feeling*  that  my 
tongue  is  dry  and  speechless  will  g-o  away.  I  must  find  out  where 
this  awful  old  man  is  ;  what  is  his  street  and  number.  I  dared  not 
ask  mother.  First  I  will  try  the  publisher  ;  as  the  '  servants' hall ' 
publications  have  rejected  it,  I  shall  olTer  DnrreJPs  Doom  to  a  first- 
rate  house.  AVhy  not  try  Channing  &  W^'udham  ?  They  cannot 
say  worse  than  '  ho,' and  I  shall  no  doubt  see  a  Directory  there." 
Thus  communing  v\ich  hers.df,  she  took  an  omnibus  down  Park 
Lane  and  walked  thence  to  the  well-known  temple  of  the  Muses  in 
Piccadilly. 

Arrived  there,  a  civil  clerk  took  her  card — which  was  her  mother's 
— and  soon  returning,  asked  if  she  had  an  appointment.  "No,  I 
have  not,  but  pray  ask  Mr.  Channing  or  Mr.  Wyndham  to  see  me  ; 
I  will  not  stay  moi'e  than  a  few  minutes."  The  young  man  smiled 
slightly  ;  he  was  accustomed  to  such  assurances.  Almost  as  Kather- 
ine  spoke,  a  stout  "  country  gentleman  "  looking  per.son  came  into 
the  warehouse,  slightly  raising  his  hat  as  he  pfisbxl  her.  A  sudden 
inspiration  prompted  her  to  say,  "Prav  excuse  me,  but  are  vouMr. 
Wyndham:-"' 

"lam." 

"  Then  do  let  me  speak  to  you  for  five  minutes." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  the  great  publisher,  graciou.sly,  and  ushered 
her  into  a  sort  of  literary  loose  box  or  small  enclosure  in  the  remote 
back-gTound. 

"I  have  ventured  to  bring  vou  a  manuscript,"  began  Katherine, 
smiling  with  all  her  might,  with  an  abject  desire  to  propitiate  the 
arbiter  of  her  mother's  fate. 

"  So  I  see,"  he  returned,  ruefully  but  politely. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  story,  and  I  thought  it  ought  to  be  published  by 
a  great  house  like  yours,"  pursued  Katherine. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "Pray  is  it 
your  own  ?' 

"  Mine  !  Oh  dear  no !  It  is  my  mother's.  She  is  not  very  strong, 
so  /  brought  it." 

There  Avas  a  slight  faltering  in  her  voice  that  suggested  a  good 
deal  1 0  her  hearer.     "  Then  you  are  not  Mrs.  W.  Liddell, "  glancing  a( 


18  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

the  card,  '*  but  Mrs.  Liddcll's  daughter.  Pray  put  dovm  that  heavy 
parcel.    Three  volumes,  Isu})pose>"' 

"  Yes,  three  volumes,  but  tiiey  are  not  very  long,  and  the  story  is 
mo.st  interesting." 

"  No  doubt.     I  hope  it  is  not  historical  ?" 

"Oh  no  !  quite  modern." 

"So  much  the  better.  Well,  Miss  Liddell,  I  will  look  at  the  manu- 
script, or  rather  our  reader  shall,  and  let  you  know  the  result  in 
due  course  ;  but  I  must  warn  you  that  -we  aVe  rather  overdone  \\ith 
three-volume  novels,  and  there  are  already  a  large  number  of  manu 
scripts  awaiting  perusal,  so  you  must  not  eijxict  our  verdict  for 
some  little  time.'' 

"  When  you  will,  but  oh  !  as  soon  as  you  can,"  she  urged. 

•'  I  will  keep  your  address,  and  you  sfiall  hc^ar  at  the  earliest  date 
we  can  manage.     Good-morning.     V^ery  damp,  uncomfortable  day." 

Katherine  felt  herself  dismissed,  and  almost  forgot  her  iiit^ri(yr  in- 
tention. "  Would  you  be  so  very  good  as  to  let  me  look  at  the 
Directory,  if  you  have  one  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Wyndham,  who  was  slipping  the  card  und;:- 
the  string  of  poor  Katherine's  parcel  "  Hei'e,  Tompkins,  let  this 
young  lady  see  the  Directorv.     Excuse  me— I  am  a  good  deal 

E"  ressed  for  time  ;''  and  with  a  tow  he  went  off,  the  manuscript  under 
is  arm. 

"  Well,  it  is  really  in  his  hands,  at  all  events,"  thought  Katherine, 
looking  wistfullv  after  it. 

A  bov  with  inlvv  hands  here  placed  that  thick  volume,  the  Post- 
Oflfice  f)ircctorv,  before  lier,  ai:a  she  proceeded  to  search  confu.sexlly 
among  the;  endless  pages  of  names,  a  little  strengthened  ai:-i  clK-ereSi 
by  her  brief  interview  with  the  publisher.  It  seemed  th.'.f  .sli  ■  ••>  as  in 
a  lucky  vein :  trouble  is  always  conducive  to  superstitiou.  A\hen 
visible  hoixj  fails,  poor  human  hearts  turn  to  the  invisible  and  the 
improbable. 

At  last  she  paixsed  at  "John  Wilmot  Liddell,  27  Legrave  Crescent. 
Camden  Town,  N.W  "  That  must  be  her  uncle;  they  were  all 
Wilmot  Liddells.     How  to  reach  his  abode  was  the  question. 

The  inky  boy  soon  gave  her  the  requisite  infonnation.  "You 
take  a  Waterloo  'bus  at  Piccadilly  Circus  ;  it  runs  through  to  Cam- 
den Town  ;  that  is,  to  the  beginnin.i  of  Camden  Town, "  he  said. 
Ka'herine  thanked  him,  and  again  set  forth. 

It  Avas  a  long,  tedious  drive.  The  omnibus  was  crammed  with 
warm  passengers  and  damp  umbrellas,  but  Katherine  was  too  racked 
Avith  impatience  and  fear  to  heed  small  discomforts  Would  her 
dreaded  relative  order  her  out  of  his  sight  at  once  ?  Was  her  in- 
terview with  the  publisher  a  good  omen  ? 

At  last  she  reacned  the  end  of  her  journey,  and  addressing  her.«ielf 
to  the  tutelary  policeman  solemnly  pacing  past  the  Tavern  where 
the  omnibus  paused,  she  asked  to  be  clirected  to  Legrave  Crescent. 

It  was  an  old-fashioned  row  of  houses,  before  them  a  few  sooty 
trees  in  a  half -moon  of  grass,  one  side  railed  off  from  the  strv-et  and 
dignifiwl  with  gates  at  either  end— gates  which  were  alwa\  sopen. 

The  place  had  a  still,  deserted  air.  but  about  the  middle  stood  a 
cab.  on  which  a  rheumatic  driver,  assisted   by  a  small  boy,  was 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  19 

placing- a  cumbrous  box.  As  Katharine  approached  she  found  that 
the  house  before  which  it  stood  bore  the  number  she  souo-ht,  and  on 
reaching  it  she  found  the  doo  held  op^n  1)y  a  little  smutty  girl,  the 
very  lowest  type  of  slavey,  with  unkempt  hair,  and  a  rough  hnlLind 
apron  of  the  grimiest  aspt^ct.  On  the  top  step  stood  a  stout  woman, 
fairly  well  dressed  in  a  lar^e  shawl  and  a  straw  bonnet  lai'gely 
decorated  with  crushed  artincial  flowers  ;  a  very  red,  angry  face 
appeared  beneath  it,  with  watery  eyes  and  a  Cf)arse,  half-ojxui  mouth, 
iVll  this  Katherino  saw,  but  hardly  observed,  so  strouj^-ly  was  her 
attention  attracted  to  a  figure  that  "stood  a  few  paces  within  the  en- 
trance—a tall,  thin  old  man,  bent  and  leaning  on  a  stick.  He  was 
wrapped  in  a  long  dressing-gown  of  duli  ciiirk  gray,  evidently  much 
worn  ;  slippers  were  on  his  feet,  and  a  black  velvet  skull-cap  on  his 
head,  from  under  which  some  thin  straggling  locks  of  white  hair 
escaped.  His  thin  aquiline  features  and  dark  sunken  eyes  were 
alig"ht  with  an  expression  of  malignant  fury ;  one  long  c!a\v-like 
hand  was  outstretched  with  a  gesture  of  dismissal,  the  other  g-rasp;'d 
the  top  of  his  stick.  "Begone,  you  accursed  drunken  thief  !"  he  was 
almost  screaming  in  a  shrill  voice.  "1  would  take  you  to  the  police 
court  if  there  was  anything  to  be  got  out  of  you  ;  but  it  would  only 
be  throwing  good  money  away  after  bad."  Get  you  gone  to  tlie 
ditch  where  you'll  die  !  You  g"u/;zling-,  muzzling- "fool,  to  leave  m}'- 
house  without  a  shilling  after  all  your  pilfering  !" 

While  he  uttered  these  w^ords  with  frightful  vehemence,  the  woman 
he  addressed  kept  up  a  rapid  undercurrent  of  reply. 

"  Livin"-  with  a  miserable  screwy  miser  like  j^ou  would  make  a 
saint  drink  !  Do  you  think  people  will  serve  yoxi  for  nothing,  and 
not  pay  themselves  somehow?  The  likes  of  you  are  born  to  be 
robbed — and  may  your  last  crust  bo  stole  from  3^ou,  you  okl  .^kin- 
flint  !"  With  this  last  delianceshe  turned  and  threw  herself  hastily  into 
the  cab,  which  crawled  away  as  if  horse  and  driver  were  equally 
rheumatic. 

"  Shut  the  door,"  said  the  old  man,  hoarsely,  as  if  exhausted. 

"Please,  sir,  there's  a  lady  here,''  said  the  little  slavey.  Kathor- 
ine,  who  was  as  frightened  as  if  she  were  face  to  face  Avith  a  lunatic, 
had  a  terrible  conviction  that  this  appalling"  old  man  was  her  uncle. 
How  should  she  ever  addi'ess  him ?  What  an  unfortunate  time  to 
haveiallen  upon ! 

"  What  do  vou  want?"  asked  the  old  man,  fiercely,  frowning-,  till 
his  shaggy  Avtite  eyebrows  almost  met  over  his  angry  black  eyes. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  John  Wilmot  Liddell." 

"Then  you  see  him  !    W^hoareyou?" 

"  Katherine  Liddell,  your  niece."" 

"My  niece  !"  with  inexpressible  contempt  and  disbelief.  "  Wei., 
niece  or  not,  you  may  serve  a  turn.    Can  you  read?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"  Come,  then— come  in."  He  turned  and  walked  with  some  dififi- 
culty  to  the  door  of  the  front  parlor.  Half  bewildered,  Katherine 
followed  mechanically,  and  the  small  servant  shut  the  front  door, 
putting  up  the  chain  Vith  a  ^ood  deal  of  noise. 

The  room  to  which  Katherine  was  so  unceremoniously  introducexi 
was  of  g-ood  size,  covered  with  a  carpet  of  which  no  pattern  and 


20  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

very  little  color  were  left.  The  furniture  was  oM-fashioned  and 
solicl  ;  a  diniiio--table  covered  with  faded  g-r^ii'ii  baize  was  in  the 
middle,  and  a  wriciiijtabU  v,'i:h  s-ivciral  draiV.!.-s  wa?  p!a -ed  n.'-ar 
tho  fire-place,  b3side  which  s':o  )d  a  hi^-h  baclced  l;'a:hjr  arm  chair, 
old,  worn,  dirt\'.  A  wretched  lire  was  dvin^  out  in  i  h  j  yrat  j,  alm;.'st 
choked  by  the  red  ashes  of  th.s  very  cheapest;  coal. 

An  cd  )r  of  dust  lon<^  undi«turl)ed  p,jr\  aded  tlr.;  atmosphare,  and 
the  dull  damp  weather  with  mt  added  to  the  extreme  j,i.)()iu  Jnde  d 
the  door  of  this  apartment  mi!:';!it  well  have  b.irne  Dau:^e's  iuscrip:ion 
over  the  entrance  to  a  warmer  place. 

Mr.  Liddell  went  with  feeble  rapidity  a  ro.ss  to  w'lTealar^e 
newspaper  lay  upcTn  the  Hoor,  and  restinj^'  one  hi.d  on  the  writinj^- 
table,  stooped  painfully  to  raise  it. 

"There!  read— read  the  price-list  to  me.  I  am  blind  and  helpless, 
for  that  jade  has  hid  my  g-lass es.  I  know  she  has.  I  cannot  Und 
them  anywhere,  and  I  mw.^i'  know  how  Turkish  bonds  are  j;'oinj?. 
Read  to  me.  I'll  hear  wlvit  you  have  to  say  after."  He  thrust 
the  paper  into  her  hand,  and  sat  down  in  the  hi^h  liacked  chair. 

Poor  Katherine  felt  almost  da<ed.  She  took  a  seat  at  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  and  beg-an  to  look  for  the  mysterious  list.  The 
ffeOnTaphy  of  the  mighty  Tlmc-^  was  unlvnown  to  her.  and  even  in 
ner  mother's  humbler  penny  paper  the  City  article  was  a  jwrtion  she 
never  g-lanced  at.  While  she  turned  the  wide  pag-es,  painfull^'  be- 
wildered, the  old  man  "  glowered  "  at  her. 

"I  don't  think  you  know  what  you  are  looking-  for,"  he  cried, 
impatiently. 

"  I  do  not  indeed !    If  you  will  show  it  to  me " 

He  snatched  it  from  her,  and  pointed  out  the  part  he  wished  to 
hear.     "Read from  the  beg"inning,"  he  said. 

Katherine  obeyed,  her  courag-e  i-eturning-  as  she  found  herself  thus 
strang-ely  instalfed  within  the  fortress  she  feared  to  attack.  She 
stumbled  occasionally,  and  was  sharply  set  upon  her  feet,  in  the 
matter  of  figures,  by  her  eager  hearer.  At  last  she  came  to  Turkish 
six  per  cents. 

"  Eighty -seven  to  eighty-eight  and  a  quarter." 

"Ha !"  muttered  the  old  man,  "  that's  an  advance  !  good  !  nothing 
to  be  done  there  yet.    l\ow  read  the  railway  stocks." 

Katherine  oh iyed.  When  she  came  to  "Florida  a  d  Teche  de- 
bentures, sixty -two  and  a  half  to  sixty -five  and  three-fourths,"  she 
wa:  startled  by  a  sort  of  shrill  shout.  "Ay!  ili:t'.^  a  rise  I  Some 
rigging  design  there  !    I  must  write— I  mu.st.     Where,  where  has 

that harridan  hid    my   glasses?      Why,  it    is  almost    twelve 

o'clock  !  the  boy  will  be  here  for  the  paper  Immediately.  And  the 
post  I  the  post !    I  must  catch  the  post.     Can  you  write?" 

* '  Oh  yes  !    Shall  I  write  for  you  ?'' 

"You  shall!  you  shall!  here's  paper  "—rising  and  opening  an 
ancient  blotting-book,  its  covers  all  .scribbled  over  with  tiny  figures, 
the  result  of  much  calculating,  hehasrUy  set  forth  writing  fnatei-ials, 
his  lean,  clav/like,  dirty  hands  trembling  with  eagerness.  "  Hear, 
hear,  write  fast." 

Katherine,  growing  a  little  clearer,  and  amazed  at  her  own  in- 
creasing seli-jx)ssession,  drew  off  her  glovcjs,  and  taking  the  rusty 
pen  offered  her,  wrote  at  his  dictation : 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  21 

'*  To  Messrs.  Rogers  S  Stokes,  Corhett  Court,  E  C. : 

"  Gentlemen,— Sell  all  my  Florida  shares  if  possible  to-day,  even 
if  they  decline  a  quarter. 

"I  am  yours  faithfully — " 

"Now  let  me  come  there  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I'll  let  no  one  sigTi 
my  name.  I'll  manage  that.  There?  there  !  Direct  an  envelope. 
Oh  Lord  !  I  haven't  a  stamp— not  one!  and  its  ten  minutes'  walk  to 
the  post-office." 

"  I  think— I  believe  I  have  a  stamp,"  said  Katherine,  drawing  her 
slender  purse  from  her  pocket  and  opening  it  !" 

"Have  you?"  eagerly.  "Give  it  tome.  Stick  it  on  !  Go  !  go  ! 
There  is  apillar  ju  t  outside  the  left-hand  gate  there ;  and  mind  you 
come  back.  I  will  give  you  a  psnny.  Ah,  yes,  you  shall  have  your 
penny?" 

"I  hope  you  will  hear  me  when  I  return,"  she  said,  appealingly, 
as  she  left  the  room. 

"Ay,  ay  ;  but  go— go  now." 

When  Katherine  returned  she  found  the  old  man,  with  the  half- 
opened  door  in  his  hand,  waiting  for  her. 

"Were  you  in  time?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Oh  yes,  quite.  I  saw  the  postman  coming  across  the  road  to 
empty  the  box  as  I  was  droppin":  the  letter  in." 

"  That's  well.  I  will  rest  a  bit  now,  and  you  can  toll  me  what  you 
please.    First,  Avhat  have  you  come  here  for  ?" 

It  was  an  appalling  question,  and  nothing  but  the  simple  truth 
occurred  to  her  as  an  answer.  Indeed,  some  irresistible  power  seem- 
ed to  compel  the  reply,  spoken  very  low  and  distinct,  "  1  came  hwe 
to  beg." 

The  old  man  burst  into  a  singularly  unpleasant  laugh,  "  "Well,  I 
like  candor.    Pray  what  business  have  you  to  beg  from  me?" 

"Because  I  know  no  one  else  to  turn' to— because  you  are  so  near 
a  kinsman.  Let  me  tell  you  about  my  mo'^her."  Simply  and  shortly 
she  gave  the  history  of  their  life  andsi:ra.^^les,  of  the  coming  of  her 
brother's  young  widow  and  orphans,  of  the  disappointment  of  her 
mother's  literary  expectations,  of  the  present  necessity.  The  quiver 
in  her  young  voice,  the  pa*:hetic  earnestness  with  which  she  told  her 
siory,  the  deep  love  for  her  mother  br3a*^hing  through  the  recital, 
might  we'l  have  moved  a  heart  of  ordinary  coldness,  but  it  seemed 
to  small  impression  on  her  grim  uncle. 

"You  come  of  a  waste''ui  extravagant  lot,"  he  said,  faintly,  "if 
yon  are  what  vou  represent  yourself  to  be — of  which  there  is  no  proof 
wliatever.  £[ow  do  I  know  3^ou  are  the  daughter  of  Frederic 
Liddell  ?" 

This  was  an  objection  Katherine  had  never  anticipated,  and  knew 
not  how  to  meet.  She  colored  vividly  and  hesitated;  then,  struck 
with  the  gha.stly  pallor  of  the  old  man's  face,  she  exclaimed,  "You 
are  ill !  you  are  fainting  !"  drawing  near  him  as  shc^  spake. 

"I  am  not  ill,"  he  gasped.  "I  am  weak  from  want  of  food.  I 
have  tasted  none  since  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  Will  you  not  order  some  ?'' "  said  Katherine,  looking  round  for  a 
bell. 


22  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  There  is  nothing'  in  the  hous'?.  That  drunken  robber  T  have  jnst 
driven  out  went  oJl  to  her  revels  last  nig'ht  and  left  nie  without  any- 
thing-; but  Aviiile  she  was  away  a  tradesman  came  with  a  bill  I 
thoug-ht  was  paid,  and  so  I  discovered  all  her  iniquity." 

"  You  must  have  somothini^,"  cried  Katherine,  seriously  alarmed. 
"  Can  I  f*'et  you  some  wine  or  brand ,'  ?"'  and  she  ran<^  hastily. 

Mr.  Liddell  drew  a  bunch  of  Ice vs' from  his  trousers  pocket,  and 
feebly  selecting-  one,  put  it  in  her  nand,  pointing-  to  the  sideljoard. 

The  first  cellai-et  Katherint;  ()]).!ncjd  was  quite  empt^',  the  opposite 
one  held  two  empty  bottlers  covered  with  dust,  and  another,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  was  about  a  wiiivi^hLss  of  brandy.  She  sought 
eag'erly  for  and  found  a  glass,  and  brought  it  to  the  fainting  man, 
pouring"  out  a  small  quantity,  which  he  sippd  readily  enough. 
"Ah  1"  he  said,  "I  was  nearly' gone.  I  musl  ea!;.  1  sii];pose  that 
wretched  brat  can  cook  something.  Ring-  again."  Katherine  rang, 
and  rang-,  but  in  vain. 

"May  I  go  down  and  see  what  has  become  of  her?" 

*'If  you  please,"  he  murmured,  more  civilly  than  he  had  yet 
spoken." 

Katherine,  with  increasing  surprise  and  interest,  descended  the 
dingy  stair  and  entered  a  chaotic  kitchen. 

Such  a  scene  of  dirt  and  confusion  she  had  never  beheld.  Nothing 
seemed  tit  to  touch.  The  little  girls  rough  apron  lay  on  the  floor  in 
the  midst,  and  she  herself  was  tying  on  a  big  bonnet,  Avhile  a  small 
bundle  lay  on  a  chair  beside  her.  She  started  and  colored  when 
Katherine  stood  in  the  doorwa\-.  "  Mr.  Liddell  has  sent  me  to  look 
for  you.     He  is  very  ill.     Why  did  you  not  answer  the  bell  ?" 

"•Because  1  was  going  away  to  mother,"  cried  the  girl,  bursting- 
into  tears.  '*  I  could  not  stay  here  by  myself.  Mr.  Liddell  is  more 
like  a  wild  beast  than  a  man  when  he  is  angry,  and  1  have  had  a 
night  and  a  day  as  would  frighten  a  policemen.  I  can't  stay— I 
can't  indeed,  miss." 

"But  you  wMs/,"  said  Katherine,  impressively.  "I  am  Mr. 
Liddell's  niece,  and  at  least  you  must  do  a  few  things  for  me  before 
you  go," 

"  Oh  !  if  you  are  here,  miss,  I  don't  mind.  I  can't  think  as  how 
you  are  Mr!!  Liddell's  niece." 

"I  am,  and  I  must  not  leave  him  till  he  is  better.  What  is  your 
namey 

"Susan,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  Susan,  is  there  any  bread  or  anything  in  the  larder?" 

"  Not  a  blessed  scrap,  miss,  and  I  am  so  hung^ry  "—a  fresh  burst  of 
tears. 

"  Don't  cry.  Do  as  I  bid  you,  and  then  you  had  better  ask  your 
mother  to  come  here.    Now  g-et  me  some  fresh  water." 

"  Tiiere's  only  water  in  the  tap  ;  the  iilterer  is  broke." 

"  Well,  give  me  a  jug-ful.  And  are  vou  too  hungry  to  make  up 
the  lire?"' 

"I'Umanag-e  that,  'm  ;  we  had  a  hundred  of  coal  in  yesterday 
morning  before  the  row." 

"  Then  clear  away  the  ashes  and  get  as  clear  a  fire  as  you  can.  1 
will  g-et  some  food." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  23 

The  desperate,  deserted  condition  of  the  old  man  seemed  to  rob 
him  of  his  terrors,  and  all  Katherine's  energ-y  was  roused  to  save 
him  from  the  ill  e.Tects  of  his  own  fury.  She  hastened  back  to  the 
dining'-room.  Mr,  Liddell  was  sitting-  up,  grasping  the  arms  of  his 
chair. 

"  There  is  nothing  down-staii's.    Will  you  allow  me  to  go  and  buy 
yoii  some  food  ?    You  will  be  ill  unless  you  eat." 
I   "  Can't  that  child  fetch  what  is  needful?"  he  said,  with  an  effort. 

*'  I  am  afraid  she  may  not  return." 

"  Then  you  had  better  go.  I'll  open  the  door  to  you  when  you 
come  back." 

"  I  will  j^-o  at  once.  But  you  must  give  me  a  little  money.  I 
would  gladlv  pay  for  the  things,  but  I  have  only  my  omnibus  fare 
back." 

"  How  much  do  you  want?"  he  returned,  drawing  forth  an  old 
worn  green  porte-monnaie. 

"  If  you  will  be  satisfied  with  a  chop,  two  shillings  will  get  all  you 
want,"  said  Katherine. 

"There,  then  ;  bring  me  the  change  and  accomit,"  he  returned, 
handing  her  the  required  sum. 

Since  her  mother  had  become  a  housekeeper  Katherine  had  done 
a  good  deal  of  the  marketing  and  householcl  mana;^ement,  and  had 
put  her  heart  into  her  work,  as  was  natural  to  her.  She  therefore 
felt  quite  competent  to  make  these  small  purchases. 

"  lou  will  want  a  little  more  wine  or  something,"  ehe  ventured  to 
suggest. 

''I  have  plenty— plenty.    MaKe  haste  !" 

Katherine  called  the  little  girl,  told  her  she  was  going  out,  and 
promised  to  bring  har  back  some  food.  Then  she  sped  on  her  way  to 
some  shops  she  had  noticed  on  her  way,  and  soon  accomplished  "her 
errand.  This  necessity  for  action  put  her  right  with  herself,  and 
gave  her  the  courage  she  needed.  With  a  word  to  the  fainting  old 
mi.ser,  sii-^  descer.ded  to  the  chaotic  kitchen,  where  she  rejoiced  the 
heart  of  the  small  slavey  by  the  sight  of  the  cold  beef  and  bread  she 
had  Ijrought  for  her.  Then  she  set  to  work  to  cook  the  chops  she  had 
rmrchas  '.il.  This  done,  to  the  amazement  of  the  little  servant,  she 
lo;>l-:ed  in  vain  for  a  cloth  to  spread  upon  the  only  battered  tray  she 
could  tiiid.  Sh  J  was  obliged  to  be  content  Avith  dusting  it  and  placing 
th3  result  of  h  ;r  cooking  between  two  warm  plates  thereupon.  Then 
she  carri<;d  the  whole  up  to  her  starving  i*elative.  Mr.  Liddell  had 
fallen  into  a  doze  from  exhaustion,  and  looked  quite  wolfish  when, 
rousing  up,  his  ey(;s  fell  upon  the  sorely  needed  food. 

"You  have  been  quick,  but  it  is  surely  wasteful  to  cook  tu-o 
chops." 

•'  You  will  not  find  them  too  much,  I  hope.  I  am  sure  you  ought 
to  eat  both." 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  the  meat  is  good."  He  fell  to  and  ate  with 
relish.  Katherine  asked  where  she  could  find  some  wine  for  him. 
He  again  produced  his  keys,  selectexi  one,  and  told  her  to  open  a 
door  at  the  end  of  the  room",  which  she  fancied  led  iiito  another.  It 
was  a  cupboard,  plentifully  filled  with  bottles  of  various  descriptions, 
from  among  which,  by  her  patient's  direction,  she  selected  one 
labelled  cognac,  and  gave  him  some  in  water. 


24  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Katherine  sat  down  and  watched  the  old  man  demolish  both  chops 
with  evident  enjoyment.  Then  he  paused,  drank  a  litUe  brandy  and 
water,  and  drew  over  the  plate  containing  the  butter,  and  smelled 
it  very  deliberately. 

"You  have  extravagant  ways,  I  am  afraid,"  he  said.  "This  is 
fresh  butter." 

"That  piece  only  cost  fourpence-halfpenny,"  she  said,  gravely, 
"  and  the  little  vou  eat  you  had  better  have  good." 

"  Fourpence-halfi^enny  !"  he  repeated,  and  fell  into  profound  medi- 
tation, from  which  he  broke  with  a  sudden  return  of  anger.  "  What 
a  double-dyed  villain  and  robber  that  infernal  woman  has  been  ! 
She  told  me  that  prices  had  risen  to  such  a  height  that  the  commonest 
salt  butter  was  eighteenpence  a  pound,  that  every  chop  was  a  shil- 
lins-,  that— that— "  Then  breaking  off,  with  an'^air  of  the  dee^Xist 
patlios  he  exclaimed :  "Thirty  shillings  a  week  1  gave  her  to  keep 
the  house,  and  she  has  left  the  butcher  unpaid  for  six  months.  But 
/  will  not  pay  him.  He  shall  suffer.  Why  did  he  trust  her? 
What  did  you  pay  for  these  things  ?"  he  ended,  abruptlv,  in  a  high 
key. 

Katherine  silently  handed  him  the  back  of  a  letter  on  which  she 
had  scribbled  doAvn  the  items. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  showing  me  this,  when  I  cannot  read— when 
I  have  no  glasses?"  he  exclaimed,  impatiently. 

"True.  I  must  try  and  find  them  for  you.  Where  did  you  first 
miss  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.    1  had  them  on  when  I  went  to  see  that 

woman  out  of  the  house  " 

Calling  Susan  to  assist  in  the  search,  Katherine  looked  carefully 
in  the  hall,  but  in  vain,  when  her  young  assistant  gave  a  cry  of  joy  ; 
she  had  almost  trodden  on  them  as  they  lay  between  a  mangy  niat 
and  th3  foot  of  the  stairs 

The  recovery  of  his  precious  glasses  did  more  to  sooth;;  th?  rufiled 
spirit  of  the  recluse  than  anything  else.  He  wiped  them  tendarly, 
and  looking  through  them,  observed  that  they  were  all  right.  Tlien 
he  sat  in  profound  silence,  while  Susan,  under  Katherine's  directions, 
cleared  up  the  hsarth,  and  removed  the  heap  of  dust  and  ashes  which 
had  nearly  put  out  th  ■  fire.  When  she  had  retired,  carrying  o'f  th.; 
tray,  Mr.  Liddell  turned  his  keen  eyes  on  his  yoiuig  visitor,  a:.d 
said  : 

"  You  came  in  the  nick  of  thime,  and  you  seem  to  know  what  you 
are  about*;  but  1  dare  say  1  should  Have  pulled  throxigli  wichoui 
you.  Now  about  your  story.  Before  anything  else  I  must  bj  as- 
sured that  you  are  i\a!ly  Fredvn-ic  Lidclell's  daughter.  Kot  thai 
your  being  so  gives  you  the  smallest  claim  ujxjn  me." 

' '  I  .supix)se  it  docs  "not, "  returned  Katherine,  sadly.  * '  Still,  if  you 
could  help  us  with  a  loan  at  this  trying  time  it  might  be  the  .saving 
of  our  fortunes,  and  both  my  mother  and  myself  would  do  our  best 
to  r<;pay  you." 

"  That^s  but  indifferent  security,"  said  the  miser  with  a  sardonic 
grin. 

"  I  feel  sure  that  my  mother's  novel  will  succeed.  It  is  a  beautiful 
story— and  you  know  how  some  of  the  best  books  have  been  rejected 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  25 

— and  when  it  is  taken  they  will  give  her  at  least  a  hundred  pounds 
for  it !"  cried  Katharine,  eagerly. 

"  Good  Lord  !  a  iniiidred  pounds  for  trashy  scribhling-s." 

"Thev  are  not  trash,  sir,"  returned  Katherine,  with  spirit. 

"And  what  sum  do  you  want  on  this  lirst-class  security?"  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  thirty  or  forty  pounds  !'' she  said,  her  heart  beating- with 
wild  anxiety. 

"  Thirty  jxmnds  !    Why,  that  is  a  fortune  !" 

"It  would  be  tons,"  said  Katheriue,  fighting  bravely  against  a 
desperate  inclination  to  ci'y. 

"  An  1  n'l  you  have  to  oifer  in  exchange  is  a  mortgage  on  an  un- 
publishi;d  novel;'"' 

"  We  have  nothing  in  the  world  but  the  furniture,"  she  replied, 
with  a  slight  sob. 

'•Furniture !"  repeated  Mr.  LiddcU,  sharply.  "How  much?— 
how  many  rooms  have  you  ?" 

"A  drawing-room  and  dining-room,  my  mother's  study,  and  four 
bedrooms,  besides — " 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Liddell,  interrupting  her,  "you'll  have  a 
hundred  pounds'  worth  in  it,  and  I  dare  say  it  cost  you  two.  Now 
you  have  shown  you  have  some  knowledge  of  the  value  of  money, 
and  you  have  served  me  well  at  this  uncomfortable  crisis.  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  will  do  ;  I'll  write  to  my  solicitor  to  go  and  see  .you,  at 
the  address  you  have  told  me,  to-morrow.  He  snail  find  out  if  you 
are  speaking  the  truth,  and  look  at  your  goods  and  chattels.  If  he 
reports  favorably  I  will  do  something  for  you,  on  the  security  of  the 
furniture.  You  haven't  given  a  bill  of  sale  to  any  one  else,  I 
suppose?" 

"A  bill  of  sale?— I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

"Ah  !  perhaps  not."  He  rose  and  hobbled  to  his  writing-table, 
where  he  began  to  write.  "What's  your  address?"  he  asked. 
Katheririe  told  him.  Prestntly  he  finish  d  and  turned  to  her. 
"Put  this  in  the  post.  Look  at  it.  Mr  Newton,  my  solicitor,  will 
take  it  with  him  when  he  calls,  to-morrow  or  next  day.  No  !"  sud- 
denly. "  1  will  s^nd  the  girl  with  it  to  the  pillar,  and  you  shall  s^'lv 
till  she  returns.  You  may  or  you  may  not  be  honest ;  but  1  will 
never  trust  any  one  agaiii." 

"As  you  li!;e,"  ret'iinr'd  Katherine,  overjoyed  not  to  be  utterly 
refusod."^  "And  before  1  go,  do  let  me  try  and  iind  some  one  to  1  e 
with  you.  It  is  dr'adful  to  think  of  your  being  alone  in  this  large 
house  with  only  that  ])oor  little  girl  '  and  nhd  is  inclined  to  run 
away  !  I  think  her  moLher  is  cotnlng  hjre  ;  bt  me  stay  till  she 
com.'s." 

"  I  don't  Avant  any  one,"  said  the  old  man,  fiercely.  "I  am  liulo 
and  strong  ;  th.'  child  can  do  all  I  want.  You  got  some  food  for  h:'r. 
I  see.  The  strength  of  that  m  !at  will  Ins'  till  to-morrow.  Than 
you  must  come  to  hear  what  J  decide,  and  you  can  do  what  I  want, 
if  yon  ,>•<  my  niece  ! "' 

"Do— do  let  me  find  S3me  one  to  stay  with  you  !  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  yonr  being  alone."  The  old  man  stared  at  hei-  curiously, 
and  a  sort  of  mocking  smile  parted  his  lips.      "May  I  at  least 


26  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

ask  Susan  if  her  mother  can  come?  for  I  am  sure  tha  g-irl  will  nol 
stay  alone." 

"Very  well,"  he  said;  "but  be  sure  vou  do  not  promise  hei 
money  1  She  mat/  come  here  to  keep  the  child  company— not  for  my 
sal.  •..» 

Katharine  hastened  to«question  Susan,  and  found  that  her  mother, 
a  char-woman,  lived  near.  She  despatched  the  little  girl  to  fetcli 
har,  and,  after  some  parleying,  agreetl  to  give  her  half  a  crown  ill 
she  would  remain  for  the  night,  determining  to  pay  it  herself  rather 
than  mention  the  subject  to  the  ogre  upstairs.  Then  she  put  her 
hat  straight  and  resumed  her  gloves.  "  J  must  bid  you  good -morn- 
ing now,"  she  said.  "This  mother  of  Susan's  looks  a  respectable 
woman,  and  will  not  ask  you  for  any  monev.  Will  you 
not  let  me  get  you  some  tea  and  sugar  before  T  go,  and  some- 
thing for " 

"  No !"  cried  the  old  man.     "I  have  some  tea.    It  is  all  that 

robber  left  behind  her.  I  want  nothing  more.  Mind  you  come  back 
to-morrow.  If  you  ai*e  my  brother's  daughter  (though  it  is  no 
recommendation!)  I'll  do  something  for  you.  If  you  are  ?((y)',  I'd— 
I'd  like  to  give  you  a  piece  of  my  mind."  He  laugh.^d  a  fiendish, 
spiteful  laugh  as  he  said  this. 

"Then  accept  my  thanks  beforehand,"  said  Katherine  smiling  a 
little  wearily. 

She  was  very  tired.  It  was  an  .oppressive  day,  and  she  had  been 
under  a  mental  strain  of  no  small  severity.  Now  she  was  longing 
to  be  at  home  to  tell  her  mother  all  her  strange  adventures,  and  she 
had  yet  to  find  out  by  what  route  she  should  return. 

Oiice  more  she  sai^  good-by.  Mr.  Liddell  followed  her  to  the  door, 
with  an  air  of  seeing  her  safe  off  the  premises,  rather  than  of 
c-urtesy,  and  Katherine  quickly  retraced  her-steps  to  the  place  where 
she  had  alighted,  hoping  to  fini  that  universal  referee,  a  policeman, 
who  would  no  doubt  set  her  on  her  homeward  way. 


CHAPTER  in. 

THE  lawyer's  visit. 

"WiiiiyE  hor  young  sister-in-law  was  thus  seeking  fortune  in  strange 
places,  Mrs.  Fred  Liddell  was  spending  a  busv  and,  it  must  be  con- 
iessed,  a  cheerful  morning,  preparing  for  the  anticipated  visit  ol 
Colonel  Ormonde. 

Ir  v\as ra'^^her  inconsiderate,  she  thouc^-ht,  of  Katherine  to  go  out 
and  leave  all  the  the  extra  dusting  of  the  drawing-room  to  her.  If 
she,  Katherine,  had  remained  at  home  she  would  have  taken  ths 
bo\  s,  as  she  always  did,  and  then  Jane,  the  house  and  children'^ 
maid,  would  have  been  able  to  h.-ip. 

If  Katherine  would  only  stay  out  all  day  she  could  forgive  her  • 
but  she  would  be  sure  to  come"in  for  dinner,  and  so  appear  at  after 
noon  tea,  which  by  no  means  suited  Mrs.  F.  Lid  ! ell  s  views. 

The  Colonel  had  given  so  very  highly  colored  a  description  of  the 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  27 

young-  lady  who  was  with  the  little  boy  so  nearly  run  cs^er  on  the 
previous  morning'  that  the  pretty  Avidow's  jealousv  was  aroused. 

In  spite  of  hsr  fiii>htiness  and'love  of  pleasure  sKe  had  a  very  keen 
sense  of  her  o au  interest,  and  perceiving-  Colonel  Ormonde's  decided 
app!-:c;ation,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  him. 
\  111  ,  she  felt,  would  be  more  easily  desig-ned  than  accom- 
plisiied.  Colonel  Ormonde  v/as  an  old  soldier  in  every  sense,  and 
an  old  bachelor  to  boot,  with  an  epicurean  taste  for  g-ood 
di:in'rs  and  pretty  women.  He  mig-ht  sacrifice  something 
for  ihe  first,  but  tlie  latter  were  too  plentiful  and  too  come-at- 
able  to  be  worth  g-reat  cost.  Still,  it  was-  generallv  believed  he  was 
matrimonially  inclined,  and  Mrs.  Fred  thoug-ht  she  mig-ht  have  as 
g-ood  a  chance  as  any  one  else,  had  she  not  been  hampered  with  her 
two  boys. 

It  would  bo  too  dreadful  if  Ormonde's  fancy  v.^ere  caught  by  Kath- 
erine's  bold  eyes  and  big-  figure.  So  Mrs"  Fred  wished  that  her 
sistjr  in-lav/  might  not  put  in  an  appearance. 

"She  is  not  a' bit  like  other  g-irls,"  thought  the  little  woman,  as 
she  finally  shook  the  duster  out  of  the  open  window  and  set  herself  j 
distril)ute  the  flowers  she  had  bought  the  previous  evening-  to  the 
best  advantage.  "She  has  no  dear  friends,  no  acquaintances  ■>  Ifh 
whom  she  likes  to  stop  and  chatter  ;  she  never  stays  out,  and  I  d  ni't 
think  sha  ever  had  the  ghost  of  a  lover.  When  /  was  her  ag-e  I  had 
had  a  do.^en,  and  I  was  married.  Poor  Fred!  Heigho!  I  wish  he 
had  left  me  a  little  money,  and  I  am  sure  I  should  never  dream  of 
giving  him  a  successor.  But  for  the  sake  of  the  dear  boys  I  should 
never  think  of  marrying' !  How  cruel  it  is  to  be  so  poor,  and  to  be 
with  such  unenterprising-  people !  If  Mrs.  Liddell  would  only  venture 
to  make  an  appearance,  and  just  risk  a  little,  she  mig"ht  dispose  of 
Kate  and  of  me  too.  There  are  men  who  mig-ht  admire  Kate,  and 
there  they  g-o  on  screwing'  and  scribbling-.  "1  wish  my  moth -r  in- 
law would  write  for  some  big-  magazine — lilackiroorl  or  Tempi r  Bar 
—or  not  write  at  all!  That  will  do,  I  think.  That  is  th^,  only 
strong- arm  chair  in  the  house  ;  it  will  stand  nicely  beside  the  sofa. 
Oh,  h  ive  you  come  in  already,  children?" — as  the  two  bo^^s  pec^p  -d 
in.  "Couldn't  Jane  have  kept  you  out  a  little  longer  !  Don't 
af  te  I  pt  to  come  in  here ! " 

-'.Jane  had  to  come  back  to  lay  the  cloth.    Mamma,  where  is 
aunty  y" 
I      -'She  has  not  come  in  yet.    Whj'-,  daar  me,  it  is  neai-ly  one 
1  o'clock  !    Go  and  get  off  your  boots,  my  darlings,  and  ask  grand- 
mamma when  she  expects  aunty." 

Mrs.  Tiiddell  did  not  know  when  Katharine  might  return,  and, 
moreover,  she  was  getting  uneasy.  She  did  not  like  to  say  much 
about  her  errand,  for  shj  knew'  her  daughter-in-law  thought  but 
ijuli  ler 'ntly  of  her  writings,  and  with  an  indescribable  "crass"  dis- 
like of  what  she  could  not  do  hjrs.-lf,  would  have  been  rather  pleased 
than  o'hju'wise  to  know  tliat  a  manuscript  had  be^n  rejected. 

In  looking  over  one  of  the  drawers  in  her  writing-table  Mrs. 
Liddell  had  found  that  Katherine  had  loft  the  shorter  story  behind. 
This  rendered  her  prolongod  abs3nce  les^  accountable,  for  she  could 
have  interviewed  several  publishers  of  three-volume  novels  in  the 


28  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

time.  The  poor  lady  naturally  feared  that  they  must  have  refused 
even  to  look  at  her  work,  or  Katherine  would  have  returned. 

Wh^'u  dinner  was  over,  and  four  o'clock  came,  Mrs.  Liddell's 
anxiety  rose  high  ;  she  could  not  bear  her  daughter-in-law's  presence, 
and  reiiivd  into  her  own  den. 

"  Won't  you  stay  and  see  Colonel  Ormonde?  He  used  to  be  quite 
friendly  v>i"th  poor'^Fral  in  Indi;).  and  I  should  like  him  to  soc  vhat 
a  nice  handsome  mamma-in-la w  1  have,'"  .'^aid Mrs.  Fred,  cares.sin,i4ly  ; 
she  rather  liked  her  mother-in-law,  and  felt  it  was  as  well  to  be  on 
afi'ectionate  terms  with  her. 

*'  No,  my  dear  ;  my  head  is  not  quite  free  from  pain,  and  I  want 
to  give  Katherine  something  to  eat  when  she  comes  in  ;  she  will  be 
very  huiigxy.  Then  I  can  see  that  the  children  do  not  get  into  any 
mischief  In  the  garden." 

The  younger  lady  then  went  to  pose  herself  with  a  dainty  piece  of 
fanc^'-work  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  elder  to  sit  at  her  writing- 
table,  pen  in  hand,  but  not  writing  ;  only  thinking-  round  and  round 
the  circle  of  difficulties  which  hedged  her  in,  and  longing  for  the 
sight  of  her  daughter's  face. 

At  last  it  beamed  upon  her  through  the  open  door-window  which 
led  out  on  the  stairway  to  the  garden  ;  her  approach  had  been  seen 
by  her  little  nephews,  who  had  admitted  her  through  the  back  gate. 

"  You  must  not  come  in  now,  dears  ;  I  want  to  talk  to  grannie.  If 
you  keep  away  I  will  tell  you  a  nice  story  in  the  evening." 

"My  dearest  child,  what  has  kept  you?  I  have  been  uneasy  ; 
and  how  dreadfully  tired  you  look  !" 

"I  am  tired,  but  that  is  nothing.  I  think,  dear,  I  have  a  little 
good  news  for  j'ou." 

"Comeinto  the  dining-room.  I  have  some  dinner  for  you,  and 
we  can  talk  quietly.    Ada  is  exi)ectiiig  a  visitor." 

But  Katherine  could  not  eat  until  she  told  her  adventures.  First 
she  described  her  interview  with  Mr.  Channing. 

"It  is  something  certainly  to  have  left  my  unfortunate  MS.  in  his 
hands  ;  still  I  dare  not  hope  much  from  that,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell. 

"Then,  mother  dear,"  resumed  Katheriiie,  "I  ventured  to  do 
something  for  which  I  hope  you  will  not  be  ang-rv  with  me- I  have 
found  John  Liddell !  I  have  invaded  his  den  ;  1  Lavcsiwkentohim  ; 
I  have  cooked  a  chop  for  him,  as  I  used  for  you  la-t  winter  ;  and 
though  I  have  been  sent  empty  away,  I  am  not  without  hopes  that 
he  will  help  us  out  of  our  difriculties." 

"  Katie,  dear,  what  luiif-  \  on  done?"  cried  her  mother,  aghast. 
"  How  did  you  manage— how  did  you  dare  ?"  Whereupon  Katherine 
gave  her  mother  a  graphic  account  of  the  whole  atl'air. 

"It  is  a  wonderful  history,"  .said  Mrs  Liddell.  "I  feel  half 
frightened ;  yet  if  ^Ir.  Li;VL'li's  solicitor  is  an  honest,  resp;  ctable 
man  he  will  surely  be  on  our  side;  at  the  same  time,  I  am  half 
afraid  of  falling  into  John  Liddell's  clutches.  He  has  th.-  character 
of  being  a  relentless  creditor :  he  will  have  his  pound  of  Ihsh  !  If 
he  gives  this  money  as  a  loan.  ai;d  I  fail  in  paying  the  interest,  he 
will  take  me  by  the  throat  as  he  would  the  greatest  stranger." 

"  Why  should  you  fail .'"'  cried  Ivaiherine.  "  You  only  want  time 
to  succeed.    I  am  sure  you  will  sell  your  books,  and  then  we  can 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  29 

pay  principal  and  interest ;  besides,  old  Mr.  Liddell  could  not  treat 
nis  brother's  widow  as  he  would  astraiig-er." 

"  1  am  not  so  sure." 

"And  vou  are  not  angry  with  me  for  going-  to  him ?" 

"No,  dear  love;  I  am  proud  of  your  courag'e.  Had  I  known 
what  you  intended,  I  should  have  forbidden  you.  I  should  never 
have  allowed  you  to  run  the  risk  of  being-  insulted :  it  was  too  much 
for  you.  I  wish  I  aould  shield  you  from  all  such  trials,  my  Kate  ; 
but  I  cannot— I  cannot."  The  unwonted  tears  stood  in  her  kind, 
faded  eyes. 

"Ah,"  mother,  ijou  have  borne  the  burden  and  ht-at  of  the  d:iy  long- 
enough  alone  ;  I  must  take  my  share  now,  and  I  assure  you,  after 
my  adventures  to-day,  I  feel  quite  equal  to  do  so.  I  have  been  too 
long  a  heedless  idler  ;  I  want  to  be  a  real  help  to  you  now.  Do  you 
think  I  have  done  any  good?" 

"Yes,  certainly!  but  everything  depends  on  this  man  who  is 
coming  to-morrow.  Your  poor  fatuer  used  to  know  Mr.  LiddeU's 
solicitor,  and  I  think  liked  him  ;  of  course  he  may  have  a  dillbrent 
one  now.  Still  it  is  a  gleam  of  hope ;  which  is  doubly  sweet  because 
you  brought  it." 

Katherine  hastily  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and 
choked  down  the  sob  that  would  swell  her  throat.  She  was  dread- 
fully tired,  physically  and  mentally. 

"  Ada  asked  me  for  that  money  this  morning  as  soon  as  you  were 
gone.  I  told  her  I  could  not  return  it  for  a  while,  and  she  did  uot 
look  pleased,  naturally  enough." 

"I  think  she  is  very  selfish,"  said  Katherine. 

"No,  dear,  o"ly  thoughtless,  and  younger  than  her  years.  She  is 
always  nice  with  me,  and  would  be  with  you  if  you  had  more 
patience.  You  must  remember  that  no  character  is  scronger  than 
its  weakest  part,  and  hers  is — " 

"Self,"  put  in  Katherine. 

"  No  !  love  of  admiration  and  pleasure,"  added  her  mother. 

"Well,"  returned  Katherine,  good-humoredly,  "thjy  both  are 
very  nice." 

Here  the  person  under  discussion  came  hastily  into  the  room,  in 
the  crispest  of  lilac  and  white  muslins,  with  a  black  sash  aiul  hr^■s, 
and  a  rose  at  her  waist,  looking  as  fresh  as  if  the  heaviest  atino.s- 
phere  could  not  touch  her. 

"  Oh,  you  have  arrived,  Katherine !  I  wish  you  would  cnne  and 
see  Colonel  Ormonde.     He  wants  so  much  to  speak  to  .you  !" 

"But  I  do  not  want  to  speak  to  him.   I  don't  want  to  sec  any  one. ' 

"Do  come,  Katie!  I  assure  you  you  h-tve  made  quite  an  im- 
pression ;  come  and  deepen  it,"  cried  Mrs.  Frederic,  w  th  a  p3  sua- 
sive  smik;,  while  .^he  thought,  "She  is  looking  awfully  bad  and 
pale,  and  Katherine  without  color  is  nowhere  ;  her  eyes  are  red  too. 
—Come,  like  a  dear,"  she  persisted,  aloud,  "  unless  you  want  to  go 
up  and  beautify." 

"  No,  I  certainly  do  not,"  said  Katherine,  rising  impatiently.  "  I 
will  go  with  you  for  a  minute  or  two,  but  I  am  too  tired  to  talk." 

"  Your  hair  is  in  utter  disorder,"  remarked  her  mother. 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  returned  Katherine.  following  her  sister-in-law 
out  of  the  room. 


30  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Her  dress  was  by  no  means  becoming-.  Tt  was  of  thin  black 
material,  the  remains  of  her  last  year's  mourning' ;  the  white  frill 
at  her  throat  was  cru  had  by  the  friction  of  her  jacket,  niid  some 
splaslies  on  the  skirt  g-ave  her  a  travel-stained  aspect.  But  no  dis- 
order coukl  hide  the  tine  warm  bronze  brown  of  her  abundant  hair, 
nor  disg-uise  the  shape  of  h  r  Ijrows  and  eyes,  thouo-h  the  eyes  them- 
selves lost  something"  of  their  color  from  the  {)aleness  of  her  cheeks  ; 
nor  did  h"r  weariness  detract  from  the  charm  of  her  delicate  up- 
turned chin. 

"Here  is  my  naug-hty  sister-in-law,  who  has  been  wandering 
aboiU.  all  the  morning-  alone,  and  making  us  quite  uneasy." 

"What  !  In  search  of  fm-thcr  adventures— eh :-"'  asked  Colonel 
Ormonde,  risin^-  and  making  an  elaborate  bow  He  spoke  in  atone 
halt  paternal,  naif  gallant,  in  right  of  which  elderly  gentleme]i 
sometimes  take  liberties. 

"  I  went  to  do  a  commission  for  my  mother,"  said  Katherine,  in- 
diTerently. 

"Ah!  if  we  had  a  corps  of  such  commif:,vonnairps  as  you  are,  we 
should  .spcind  our  lives  sending  and  receiving  messages,"  returned 
the.  Colonel,  with  a  laugh.  He  spoke  in  short  Jiuthoritative  s;',n- 
tences,  with  a  loud  harsh  voice,  and  in  what  might  be  termed  tiie 
"big  bow-wow  "  stylo 

"You  must  not  believe  all  Colonel  Ormonde  says,"  observed  the 
fair  widow,  smiling  and  slightly  shaking  her  head.  "He  is  a  xcvy 
faithless  man." 

"By  George !  Mrs.  Liddell,  I  don't  deserve  such  a  character  from 
j/r//.  But"— addressing  Katherine,  who  had  simply  looked  at  iiim 
with  quiet,  contemplative  eyes— "I  hope  you  have  recovered  from 
y;;ur  fright  of  yesterday.  I  never  saw  eyes  or  cheeks  express 
terror  so  eloquently." 

"Yes,  I  was  dreadfully  frightened,  and  very,  very  grateful  to 
the  g.-ntljman  who  saved  poor  Cecil.     I  hope  he  was  not  hurt?" 

"  hjliall  I  tell  him  to  come  and  report'^imself  in  person  ?" 

"No,  thank  you." 

"  Vvouldn't  you  like  to  thank  him  again?  It  might  be  a  pleasant 
process  to  both  parties— eh?" 

Kntherine  smiled  good-humoredly,  while  she  thought,  "  What 
an  idiot!" 

"  Katherine  is  a  very  serious  young  woman,"  said  Mi*s.  Frederic 
—"quite  too  awfully  in  earnest ;  is  always  striving  painfully  to  do 
h'.rdutv.    She  despises  frivolities,  and  never  dreams  of  flirtation." 

"This  is  an  appalling  description,"  said  Ormonde.  "Pra^'  is  it  on 
priiiciple  you  renounce  flirtation?" 

"  For  a  much  better  reason,"  replied  Katherine,  wearily.  "Be- 
cause I  have  no  one  to  flirt  with." 

"Bv.Jove!  there's  a  state  of  destitution!  Why,  it  is  a  blot  on 
society  that  you  should  be  left  lamenting-." 

"Yes;  is  it  not  melancholy?"  replied  Katherine,  careles.sly. 
"Ada,  I  am  so  tired  I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  go  away  to 
rest  ?" 

"Before  you  go,"  said  Ormonde,  ej.gerly,  "I  have  a  request  to 
make,    A  chum  of  mine,  Sir  James  Brereton,  and  myself  are  going 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  31 

tip  the  river  on  Thursday,  with  some  friends  of  Mrs.  Liddell's— a 
picnic  affair.  Your  sisteV-in-law  has  promised  to  honor  me  with  her 
company,  and  I  earnestly  hope  '/ox  will  accomi-any  her.  I  promise 
you  shall  be  induced  to  rescind  your  anti-flirtation  resolutions." 

"Up  the  river  i'"  repeated  Katherine,  with  a  wistful  look,  and 
paused.  "On  Thursday  next?  Thank  you  very  much,  but  I'm 
engao-ed— quite  particularly  engag-ed." 

"Nonsense,  Katie!"  cried  her  sister-in-law.  "Where  in  the 
•world  are  you  going-  ?  You  know  you  never  have  an  engag-ement 
anywhere." 

"  Come,  Miss  Liddell,  do  not  be  cruel.  We  will  have  a  very  jolly 
day,  and  I'll  try  and  persuade  your  hero  of  vesterday  to  meet  you  " 

"  I  should  like  to  2'o  very  much,  but  I  really  cannot.  I  thank  you 
for  thinking- of  me.'  Sne  stood  up,  and,  with  a  slight  bow,  said, 
"Gofxl-morning,"  leaving  the  room  before  the  stout  Colonel  could 
reach  the  door  to  open  it 

"  Phew  !  that  was  sharp,  short,  and  decisive,"  said  Ormonde. 

"Yes,  wasn't  it?  She  is  quite  a  character.  Leave  her  to  me  if 
you  wish  her  to  go.     1  will  manage  it." 

"Yes,  do.  She  is  something  fresh,  though  she  is  not  so  handsome 
as  I  thought.     I  suspect  there  is  a  strong  dash  of  the  devil  in  her." 

"  I  cannot  say  7  have  seen  much  of  it,''  said  the yoi:ng  widow,  frank- 
ly. She  was  extremely  shrewd  in  a  small  way,  and  had  adoped  an 
air  of  candid  good-nature  as  best  suited  to  her  style  and  complexion. 
"  Handsome  or  not,  if  you  would  like  to  have  her  at  your  party,  I 
will  try  to  persuade  her  to  come." 

"Thanks.  What  a  little  brick  you  are !"  said  Ormonde,  admiringly. 
"  No  nonsense  with  you,  or  trying  to  keep  a  pretty  gir!  out  of  it. 
"  I  say,  Mrs.  Liddell,  it  must  be  an  awful  life  for  you,  shut  up  in 
this  stuffy  suburban  box?" 

"  Well,  it  is  not  cheerful  ;  but  I  have  no  choice,  so  I  just  make 
the  best  of  it,"  she  returned,  with  as  bright  a  smile  as  she  could 
muster.  "  No  use  spoiling  one's  eyes  or  one's  temper  over  the  inevi- 
table. Then  lam  really  fond  of  my  mother-in-law,  poor  soul  ! 
She  would  spoil  me  if  she  had  the  means  ;  and  Katherine— well,  she 
isn't  bad." 

"By  George!  if  you  make  your  mother-in-law  fond  of  you,  you 
must  be  an  angel  incarnate  " 

"  An  angel !  echoed  the  little  lady.  "That  would  never  do.  No, 
no  ;  it  is  because  I  am  so  desperately  human  I  get  on  with  them  ail." 

"Delightfully  human,  you  mean.  No  hw.s :■.  could  be  dull  v/ith 
you  in  it.    There's  nothin;^  like  pluck  and  good-humor  in  a  woman. ' 

"  Well,  Heaven  knoAA-s  I  want  both !" 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  be  off,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I  am  going  to 
dine  with  Eversley,  and  he  has  a  villa  at  Rochampton— quite  a 
journey,  you  knoAV.  Where  is  the  little  chap  that  was  near'lv  ruii 
oYer  ?''^ 

"  Plajnng  in  the  garden,  very  happy  and  very  dirty.  I  dare  not 
nave  him  in— he  always  climbs  up  and  hangs  about  me,  for  I  have 
my  best  dress  on  !"— the  last  words  in  large  capitals. 

"  A  deuced  becoming  dress  too  ;  but  it's  not  go  fine  as  what  you 
^•d  on  yesterday." 


32  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  there  are  degrees  of  best  dress.  Yesterday's 
was  ray  very  best  go-to-luncheon  dress,  and  must  last  me  a  whole 
year." 

"A  year!  By  Jove!  And  you  always  look  well  dressed!  You 
are  a  wonderful  woman  !  Now  I  must  be  off.  Mrs.  Burnett  says  she 
will  .send  the  carriag'e  for  you  on  Thursday.  We  drive  down  to 
Twickenham." 

•'  Oh,  thank  you,  Colonel  Ormonde  !  1  am  sure  I  am  indebted  to 
you  f  )r  that  lift,"  said  Mrs.  Frederic,  while  she  thought,  "  He  might 
have  driven  me  down  himself." 

"  All  rrroir,  then.  Always  hard  to  tear  myself  away  from  such  a 
charming- little  witch  as  you  are" 

Ormonde  kissed  her  hand  and  departed. 

".Jolly,  plucky  little  woman,"  he  thought,  as  he  walked  toward 
tlio  Bavswater  Road,  looking  for  a  hansom.  "Just  the  sort  to  save 
a  man  troiible,  and  get  full  value  out  of  a  sovereign."  He  con- 
tinued to  mus3  on  the  wonderful  discovery  he  had  made  of  a  woman 
perfectly  planned,  according  to  man's  ideal— sweet,  yielding,  tenderly 
sympathetic,  willing  and  capable  to  ward  off  all  annoyances  from 
her  master,  full  of  feeling-  for  /??'.«  troubles,  and  not  to  be  moved  by 
her  own  to  sad  looks,  unbecoming  tears,  or  downcast  spirits— all  soft- 
ness to  him,  all  bristling  sharpness  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  "  Such 
a  Avomaii  would  ar.swer  my  purpose  as  Avell  as  a  woman  with  money, 
arid  she  is  an  uncommonly  tempting  mor.sel.  But  then  those  infernal 
boys !  I  am  not  going  to  provide  for  another  fellow's  brats,  and 
they  can't  hav'e  more  than  sixty  pounds  between  them  from  the  fund  ! 
is'o";  I  must  not  make  an  a.ss  of  myself,  even  for  a  pretty,  clever 
woman,  who  has  rather  a  hankering  for  myself,  or  I  am  much  mis- 
taken. That  sister-in-law  of  hers  is  the  m'^aking  of  an  uncommon 
tine  woman.  There's  a  dash  of  a  tragedy  queen  about  her,  but  it 
will  be  good  fim  to  play  her  against  the  widow." 

And  the  widow,  as  she  rang  for  the  house-maid  to  remove  the  tea- 
things,  indulged  in  a  few  speculations  on  her  side.  "He  was  evi- 
dently disappointed  with  Katherine.  I  am  not  surprised.  She  is 
looking  ill,  and  she  has  such  ungracious  manners  !  Of  course  she 
will  come  to  this  Richmond  party  when  I  ask  her,  and  1  must  ask 
her.  Ormonde  is  a  good  deal  smitten  with  me,  but  he'll  not  lose  his 
head.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  be  poor  and  to  have  two  boys.  Oh, 
how  dreadful  it  is  to  live  in  this  horrible  dull  hole  !  I  wonder  if 
Colonel  Or  monda  will  ever  propose  for  me !  He  is  very  nice  and  plea.sant, 
but  ho  is  awfully  selfish.  I  hate  selfishness.  Perhaps  if  Mrs.  Lildell 
would  imdertake  to  keep  the  little  boys  altogether  it  might  make 
matter.^  easier.  Poor  children !  if  I  were  only  rich  I  would  never 
wish  to  part  with  them  ;  but  who  can  hold  out  against  poverty  ?" 

The  night  which  followed  was  sleepless  to  Mrs.  Liddell.  How  could 
she  close  her  eyes  when  so  much  de^nded  on  the  visit  she  hoped  to  re- 
ceive to-morrow?  If  this  agent  of  John  Liddells  was  propitious,  she 
might  get  breathing-time  and  be  able  to  wait  till  her  manuscript 
brought  forth  some  fruit;  if  not— well  shedarednottkink  of  thercA-erse. 
She  listened  to  the  soft,  regular  breathing  of  her  daughter,  who  was 
wrapped  in  refreshing  slumber,  and  thanked  God  for  the  quick  for- 
g-etfulness  of  youth.    It  was  like  a  fresh  draught  of  life  and  hope  tQ 


▲  CROOKED  PATH.  33 

think  of  her  courag"e  and  perseverance  in  finding  out  and  affronting 
her  miserly  uncle.    Good  must  come  of  it. 

Day  da^vned  brig-ht  and  clear,  and  the  little  party  met  as  usual  at 
brc^a'cfast.  Neither  mother  nor  daughter  had  breathed  a  word  of 
th  ir  hojies  or  fears  to  the  pretty  widow.  Breakfast  over,  they  all 
disp  !rsed  to  their  usual  avocations.  Katherine,  down-stair.s"  was 
consulting  cook,  and  Mrs.  Liddell  was  wearily  sorting  and  tearing 
fti],  J  ap.u-s,  when  the  servant  came  into  the  study  and  said,  "  Please, 
'm,  there's  a  gentleman  wanting  you  ' 

"  Wheje  have  you  put  him  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Liddell,  glancing  at  the 
card  presented  toher,  on  which  was  printed,  "Mr.  C.  B.  Newton,  26 
Manchester  Buiklings." 

"He  is  by  the  door,  'm." 

"  Oh,  show  him  into  the  dining-room.     Where  is  Mrs.  Frederic?" 

"Gone  out,  'ra." 

"I  will  come  directly,"  and  Mrs.  Liddell  hastily  locked  a  drawer 
and  put  a  weight  on  her  papers'  "  Tell  Miss  Liddell  to  come  to  me," 
she  said  as  she  passed. 

A  short,  thick -set  man  of  more  than  middle  age,  slightly  bald, 
with  an  u[)turned  nose,  qiiiet,  watchful  e\'es  of  no  particular  c  )lor, 
and  small  sandy  mutton  chop  whiskers,  was  standing  near  the  win- 
dow \vl;  n  she  entered.  He  made  a  quick  bow,  and  stepped  nearer 
"Mrs.  Liddell .''"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  am  Mrs   Li<ldell. 

"I  have  called  on  the  part  of  my  client,  Mr.  John  Liddell,  of 
Legrave  Crescent,  to  make  certain  inquiries  This  note,  which  I 
received  from  him  yesterday  afternoon,  will  explain  the  object"  of 
my  visit." 

'•  Pray  sit  down,  Mr.  Newton  "—taking  a  chair  as  she  spoke, 
while  she  read  the  small,  crabbed,  tremulous  characters  written  on 
the  page  presented  to  her.  The  note  containcKi  directions  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Liddvl!  and  ascertain  if  she  really  was  the  widow  of  his  late 
brother  ;  also  what  security  she  could  offer  for  a  small  loan. 

Her  color  rose  faintly  as  she  read. 

"  You  must  not  regard  the  plainness  of  business  phra.^  >f'li;ry," 
said  the  visitor,  in  dry,  precise  tones.  "  My  client  moans  noo!ience." 

"  Nor  do  I  mean  to  take  any,"  she  replied,  handing  him  back  the 
no'e.     "Pray  how  am  1  to  prove  my  own  identity  r"' 

'■It  would  not,  I  suppose,  be  very  difficult ;  but,  as  it  happens,  / 
c;m  be  your  witness.  I  quite  well  remember  seeing  you  with 
?.ir  widtiell,  your  late  husband,  some  sixteen  or  seventeen  years 
a,v;o  " 

"Indeed!  I  am  surprised  that  I  do  not  recall  you.  I  generally 
have  a  good  memory,  but—" 

"  /  am  not  surprised.  I  was  unhappily  the  bearer  of  an  unpleas- 
a))t  message,  which  excited  Mr.  Liddell  considerably,  and  your 
attention  was  absorbed  by  your  efforts  to  calm  him." 

"I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  coloring  deeply.  "It  was  a 
trying  tim3." 

"  We  will  consider  this  inquiry  answered.  As  regards  the  loan '' 
—  the  door  opening  to  admit  Katherine  inteiTupted  him  ;  he  rose 
and  bowed  formally  when  her  mother  named  her  ;  the  a  he  resumed 


34  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

his  sentence— "as  regards  the  loan,  I  must  first  know  the  amount  it 
is  proposed  to  borrow,  in  ord<'.r  to  judge  of  the  security  offered." 

"I  asked  my  uuck;  for  thirty  poun  ts,  but  I  should  be  very  glad  if 
he  would  lend  us  forty." 

"No,  Katie;  I  dare  not  take  so  much,"  interi-upted  her  mother, 
"Remember,  it  must  be  repaid  ;  and,"  addressing  the  lawyer,  she 
added,  "  the  only  security  J  have  to  oifer  is  the  furniture  of  this 
house— furniture  of  the  simplest,  as  you  will  see." 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Liddell?"  asked  Mr.  Newton,  a  slight  expres- 
sion of  surprise  passing  over  his  face. 

"  My  daughter  has,"  said  Mrs    Liddell. 

"Yes  ;  I  ventured  to  visit  him,  l)ecai!se'' — she  hesitated,  and  then 
went  on,  fi'ankly — "  because  Ave  wanted  this  money  very  much  in- 
deed ;  and  I  found  him  in  a  sad  cmdition."  Katherine  went  on  to 
describe  the  scene  of  yesterday,  dwelling  on  the  desolate  position  of 
the  old  man.  "I  feltfrioi-htened  to  leave  him  alone  ;  he  seems  \\cak, 
and  unfit  to  take  care  of  niniself.  I  hope,  Mr.  Newton,  you  will  go 
to  him  and  induce  him  to  have  a  in'oper  servant.  I  am  going,  be- 
cause I  promised  in  any  case  to-go  ;  and  I  must  give  the  little  ser- 
vant's mother  the  half-crown  I  promised  her." 

"I  have  been  somewhat  xmeasy  respecting  Mr.  Liddell.  For  a 
considi^rable  time  I  had  my  doubts  of  his  cook  housekeeper  ;  but  ho 
is  a  man  of  strong  will  and  peculiar  views.  Then  the  fear  of  partino;' 
with  money  increases  with  increasing  years,  I  am  glad  Miss  .Lid- 
dell succeeded  in  making  herself  known  to  him;  ho  is  a  p:cr,!'ar 
character— very  peculiar."  He  paused  a  moment,  looking  keenly  at 
Katherine,  ana  added :  "  With  a  view  to  arranging  for  the  loan  you 
reouire,  I  must  ask  to  look  at  your  rooms.  I  do  not  suppose  I  am  a. 
juage  of  such  things,  but  the  knowledge  of  former  transactions,  mv 
recollection  of  our  last  iuto.rview,  determines  me  to  come  myself 
rather  than  to  send  an  ordinary  employe." 

"  I  feel  your  kind  consideration  warmly,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell. 
"Follow  me,  and  you  shall  see  what  few  hous;  hold  goods  I 
possess." 

Gravely  and  in  silence  Mr.  Newron  was  conducted  to  the  drawing- 
room,  the  best  bedroom,  Mrs.  LiddelFs,  and  the  children's  rooms. 
The  examination  was  swiftly  accomplished.  Then  th.!s;dato  lawyer 
returned  to  the  dining-room  and  began  to  put  on  his  riihtluind 
glove.  "I  presume,"  he  .said — "  it  is  a  mere  form.al  qu  !stiou— I  pre- 
sume there  is  no  claim  or  lien  upon  your  goods  and  chattels?" 

"None  whatever,  I  want  a  little  temporary  help  until—"  She 
paused. 

"My  mother  has  been  successful  in  writing  short  stories.  Chan- 
ning  &  Wyndham  have  a  three-volume  no-sel  of  h^'rs  now,  a'.d  I 
am  sure  they  will  take  it ;  then  she  can  pay  Mr.  Liddell  easily." 

The  lawyer  smiled  a  queer  little  withered,  half-developed  smile. 
"I  tra-^t  your  anticipations  may  be  verified,"  he  said.  "Now,  my 
dear  madam,  I  need  intrude  on' you  no  longer  ;  I  shall  go  on  to  see 
Mr.  Liddell.  But  though  I  .'^hall  certainly  represent  that  he  may 
safely  make  you  this  sinall  advMnc^,  it  is  possible  he  may  refuse'; 
and  it  is  certain  he  will  ask  high  interest.  However,  1  sliall  do  my 
beet." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  35 

"It  will  be  a  g^reat  accommodation  if  he  consents.  And  if  he  is 
rich  surely  he  will  not  deal  as  hardly  with  his  brother's  Avidow  as 
with  a  strang-er." 

"  Where  money  is  concerned,  Mr.  Liddell  recognizes  neither  friend 
nor  foe.  He  will  wish  some  form  of  the  nature  of  a  bill  of  sale  to  be 
sig-ned." 

"  Whatever  you  both  think  rig-ht,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell. 

Here  some  shouts  from  the  garden  drew  Newton's  attention  to  the 
window,  throixg-h  which  Cecil  and  Charlie  could  be  seen  endeavoring- 
to  put  some  noxious  insect  on  the  neck  of  the  nurse-maid,  who  had 
taken  them  their  noonday  slices  of  bread  and  butter.  "  My 
grandsons,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  smiling- — ''My  poor  boy's  orphans." 

"Hum  !"  said  the  little  man  ;  and  he  stood  a  moment  in 
thought. 

"  I  think  Miss  Liddell  said  her  uncle  expressed  a  wish  that  she 
should  return  to  see  him?" 

"He  made  me  promise  to  g-o  back  to  day." 

"  Then  by  no  means  disappoint  him.  He  is  a  very  difficult  man 
to  manag-e,  and  if  your  daughter  "—to  Mrs.  Liddell— "  could  con- 
trive to  interest  him,  to  make  him  indulg-e  in  a  few  of  the  comforts 
necessary  to  his  years  and  his  position,  it  would  be  of  the  last  im- 
portance, and  ultimately,  I  hope,  not  unprofitable  to  herself." 

"I  fear  the  last  is  highly  improbable  ;  but  Katherine  will  certainly 
fullil  her  promise." 

"  I  am  going-  to  drive  over  to  Legrave  Crescent  myself :  if  it 
would  suit  Miss  Liddell  to  accompany  me,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  be 
her  escort." 

"Thank  \'0U  ;  I  shall  be  veiy  glad." 

"  My  brother-in-law  will  not  imagine  there  is  any  collusion  be- 
tween' you?"  asked  Mrs.  Liddell,  with  a  smile.  "  Men  of  his  char- 
acter aVe  suspicious." 

"  No ;  I  think  I  may  venture  so  far,  though  Mr.  Liddell  is  sus- 
picious." 

"  Then  I  must  ask  you  to  wait  while  I  put  on  my  hat,"  said  Kath- 
erine, and  left  the  room. 

She  had  changed  her  dress  when  her  mother  followed  her.  "My 
love,  you  had  better  take  a  few  shillings,  and  try  and  come  back 
soon.  Why,  Katie,  considering  you  had  to  do  cooking  yesterday, 
you  ought  not  to  have  put  on  your  best  frock,  dear,  for  I  see  little 
chance  of  another." 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  could  not  go  out  in  my  old  black  cashmere  with 
Mr.  Newton.    Why,  he  is  the  perfection  of  neatness." 

"Here  is  Ada,  just  coming  in." 

"What  a  vollev  of  questions  she  will  ask  !  Now,  mother,  do  not 
satisfy  her.  Telf  her  my  rich  uncle  has  sent  his  solicitor  to  inter- 
view us,  and  that  I  am  going  to  dine  with  him.  I  wish  I 
could  have  had  some  dinner  before  I  went,  for  I  am  going  to  Hungry- 
Hall." 

"Courage,  darling!  If  we  can  got  this  loan  it  will  be  a  gre-at 
-relief.  Do  not  keep  him  waiting  any  longer— there  are  your  gloves. 
Come  back  as  soon  as  ever  you  can." 


36  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

CHAPTER  IV. 
"A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS." 

"  Where  in  the  world  is  Katherine  going-,  and  who  is  that  man  ?" 
exclaimed  the  youn"'er  widow,  her  lig-ht  blue  eyes  wide  open  in 
amazement,  when  Ivatherine  had  passed  her  with  a  smiling-  ''  Good- 
by  for  the  present,"  and  walked  down  the  road  beside  the  precise 
lawyer. 

"She  is  g-oing-  to  her  uncle,  Mr.  John  Liddell,  who  expressed  a 
wish  to  s(;e  her  to-day,  and  that  g-eutleman  is  Mr.  Liddell's solicitor," 
returned  the  elder  lady,  smiling-  to  think  how  soon  she  had  been 
driven  in  upon  the  reserved  force  of  her  daug-hter's  sug-g-estion. 

"  What !  that  terrible  old  miser  poor  Fred  used  to  talk  of  y  Why, 
he  will  take  a  favorable  turn,  and  leave  everything  to  Katie  !  On, 
dear  Mrs.  Liddell,  that  will  not  be  fair  Do  contrive  to  k't  him  see 
Cis  and  Charlie.  We  will  declare  that  Cecil  is  his  very  image.  Old 
men  like  to  be  considered  like  pretty  young  creatures.  I  always  get 
on  with  crabbed  old  men.  Let  me  see  him  too  Katherine  must  not 
keep  the  game  all  in  her  own  hands.     Let  me  have  a  chance." 

"I  don't  fancy  Katie  has  much  of  a  chance  herself,"  returned  Mrs. 
Liddell,  as  she  followed  her  daughter-in-law  into  the  dining-room. 
"  It  is  an  old  man's  whim,  and  he  will  probably  never  wish  to  see 
her  again." 

"Very  likely.  You  know  dear  Katherine  does  not  do  herself  jus- 
tice ;  her  manners  are  so  abrupt.    You  do  not  mind  nw/  saying  so?" 

"  Not  in  the  least."  Mrs.  Liddell  had  a  fine  temper,  and  also  a 
keen  sense  of  humor.  Though  fond  of  and  indulgent  to  her  daugliter- 
in-law,  she  saw  through  her  more  clearly  than  Katherine  did,  as  she 
gave  full  credit  for  the  good  that  was  in  her,  in  spite  of  her  little 
foibles  and  greediness.  "Katherine  is  much  more  abrupt  than  you 
are. " 

"  Exactly.  She  will  never  be  quite  up  to  her  dear  mother's  mark. 
Few  step-mothers  and  daughters  get  on  as  we  do,  and  I  am  sure 
you  would  look  after  poor  Fred  s  boys  as  if  they  were  your  own." 

"  So  would  Katherine.    Of  that  you  may  be  sure,  my  dear." 

"  Oh  yes  ;  she  is  very  fond  of  tHem,  especially  Charlie.  I  do  not 
think  she  is  really  just*^to  Cecil." 

"Real  justice  is  rare,"  returned  Mrs.  Liddell,  calmly.  " There  is 
a  note  for  you,  Ada,  on  the  chimney-piece  ;  it  came  ]ust  after  you 
went  out." 

"  Why,  it  is  from  Mrs.  Burnett !"— pouncing  on  it  and  tearing  it 
open.  "What  shall  I  do?"  she  almost  screamexi  as  she  read  it.  "I 
am  afraid  I  shall  never  get  there  in  time.  What  o'clock  is  it? — my 
watch  is  never  right.  Half-past  twelve,  and  luncheon  is  at  half-past 
one.  Oh,  I  must  manage  it !  Read  that,  dear.— Jane  !  Jane  !  bring 
me  some  hot  water  immediately,  and  come  help  mo  to  dress.— What 
Is  the  cab  fare  to  Park  Terrace?  Eighteenpence?— it  can't  be  so 
much.  Just  lend  me  a  shilling ;  you  can  take  it  out  of  the  ten 
pounds  you  are  to  pay  me  next  week."  And  she  flew  out  of  the 
room. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  37 

"Mrs.  Liddell  sat  down  with  a  sigh,  and  read  the  note  which 
caused  this  excitement ; 

"Dear  Mrs.  Liddell,— Do  help  me  inadilemma  !  "We  haveabox 
for  Miss  St.  Germaine's  Ijenefit  matinee  to-morrow,  and  Lady  Alice 
Mordaunt  wants  to  come  with  Fanny  andBea.  You  know  she  is  not 
out  yet.  Now  I  am  eng-aged  to  ffo  Vith  Florence  to  Lady  McLean's 
g-arden  party  at  Twickenham.  So  may  I  depend  on  you  to  come  and 
clri]x;ron  them  ?  If  it  were  my  own  g-irls  only,  they  could  go  with 
Ormonde  or  any  one.  But  Lady  Alice  is  to  be  escorted  to  our  house 
by  that  incarnation  of  propriety,  Mr.  Errington  ;  so  they  must  have 
a  chaperon.  I  therefore  depend  on  you.  Luncheon  at  1.30.  Do  not 
fail.     Ever  yours  affectionately.  E.  Burnett." 

Mrs.  Liddell  folded  up  the  epistle  and  placed  it  in  its  envelope ; 
then  she  sat  musing.  How  cruel  it  would  be  to  break  this  butterfly 
on  the  wheel  of  bitter  circumstance !  It  would  be  irrational,  she 
thought,  ''  to  expect  the  strength  that  could  submit  to  and  endure 
the  inevitable  from  her.  She  will  at  once  suffer  more  and  less  than 
mj  Katie.  Small  exterior  things  will  sting  Ada  and  make  her 
miserable.  As  long  as  Katherine's  heart  is  satisfied  all  else  can  be 
borne  ;  but  her  conditions  are  more  difficult.  Heigho  !  for  material 
ills  there  is  nothing  so  intolerable  as  debt."  She  rose  and  went  to 
her  room  with  the  vague  intention  of  doing  some  of  the  hundred  and 
one  things  which  needed  doing,  one  more  than  another,  as  was 
usual  in  her  busy  life,  but  somehow  the  uncertainty  and  anxiety 
oppressing  her  heart  made  her  incapable  of  continued  action  ;  she 
was  always  breaking  o.T  to  think — and  the  more  she  thought,  the 
more  uneasy  she  grew.  If  she  had  worked  out  the  thin  vein  of  in- 
vention and  observation  which  gained  her  her  humble  literary  suc- 
cess, one  source  of  income  was  gone— a  source  on  which  she  had 
reckoned  too  surely.  Then  she  had  not  anticipated  that  her  daughter- 
in-law  would  be  so  expensive  an  inmate.  Self-denial  was  a  thing 
incomprehensible  to  her.  As  long  as  she  took  cax*e  of  her  clothes, 
and  refrained  from  buying  the  very  expensive  garments  her  soul 
longed  for,  she  considered  herself  most  exemplary.  As  for  the 
smaller  savings  of  omnibus  and  cabs  not  absolutely  needful,  she 
rarely  thought  of  such  matters,  or,  if  she  did,  it  made  her  frightfully 
cros.s,  and  urged  Jier  to  many  .spiteful  and  contemptuous  remarks  on 
girls  who  have  the  strength  of  a  horse,  and  do  not  care  what  horrid 
places  they  tramp  through :  so  that  she  never  was  able  to  lighten 
the  household  burdens  by  a  farthing  beyond  the  very  small  amount 
she  had  originally  agreed  to  contribute  toward  them. 

Her  mother-in-law's  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  young 
widow  skurry  ing  in  in  desperate  haste.  "  Jane  has  gone  for  a  cab,  * 
she  exclaimed  ;  "have  you  that  shilling?" 

"Here  ;  you  had  better  have  eio;'hteen}Xince,  in  case — " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  had  better  ;  and  do  I  look  nice?" 

"  Very  nice  indeed.  I  think  you  are  looking  so  much  better  than 
you  did  last  year—" 

"  That  is  because  I  go  out  a  little  ;  I  delight  in  the  theatre.  No'v^ 
I  must  be  off.  There  is  the  cab— oh  !  a  horrid  four-wheeler.  GK)od- 
by,  de» 


38  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Mrs.  Burnett  was  the  wife  of  a  civilian  hiffh  up  in  the  Indian  ser- 
vice, and  was  herself  a  woman  of  good  family.  She  had  come  home 
in  the  previous  winter  in  order  to  introtkice  her  eldest  daug-hter  to 
society,  and  accidentally  meeting-  Mrs.  Frederic  Liddell,  whom  she 
had  known  in  India,  was  graciously  pleased  to  patronize  her.  She 
had  taken  a  handsome  furnished  house  near  Hyde  Park,  and  kept  it 
freely  open  during  the  season.  Admission  to  such  an  establishment 
was  a  sort  of  "  open  sesame  "  to  heaven  for  the  little  widow.  She 
loved,  she  adored  Mrs.  Burnett  and  her  dear  charming  girls,  to  say 
nothing  of  two  half-grown  sons,  "the  most  delightful  boys  !"  She 
was  really  fond  of  them  for  the  time,  and  it  was  this  touch  of  tem- 
porary sincerity  that  gave  her  the  unconscious  power  to  hold  the 
hearts  of  Mrs.  fiurnett  and  her  daughters. 

She  was  quite  the  pet  of  the  famil}^  and  always  at  their  beck  and 
call.  To  keep  this  position  she  strained  every  means  ;  she  even  de- 
nied herself  an  occasional  pair  of  gloves  in  order  to  tip  the  stately 
man-servant  who  opened  tne  door  and  opened  her  umbrella  occas- 
sionally  for  her. 

She  found  the  w^iole  party  assembled  in  the  dining-room,  and  her 
entrance  was  hailed  with  acclamations. 

"I  had  just  begun  to  tremble  lest  you  should  not  come,"  cried 
Mrs.  Burnett,  stretching  out  her  hand,  but  not  rising  from  her  seat 
at  the  head  of  the  table. 

**  1  only  had  your  note  half  an  hour  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  with 
pardonable  inaccuracy,  feeling  her  spirits  rise  in  the  delightful  at- 
mosphere, flower-scented,  and  stirred  by  the  laughter  and  joyoua 
chatter  of  the  "goodlie  companie." 

A  long  table  set  forth  with  all  the  paraphernalia  of  an  excellent 
luncheon  was  surrounded  by  a  merry  party,  the  girls  in  charming 
suiii  111  er  toilettes,  and  as  many  men  as  women.  Men,  too,  in  the 
freshest  possible  attire,  all  "on  pleasure  bent." 

"Do  you  know  us  all?"  asked  Mrs.  Burne't,  looking  roxind. 
"Yes,  I  think  all  but  Lady  Alice  Mordaunt  and  Mr.  Kirby." 

"  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meetino-  Lady  Alice  Mordaunt 
before  "—with  a  graceful  little  courtesy — "but  Mr.  Kirby,  though 
he  has  forgotten  me,  1  remember  meeting  him  at  Rumchuddar, 
when  I  first  went  out  to  my  poor  dear  papa.  Perhaps  you  remem- 
ber /n>n— Captain  Dunbar,  at ?"    Thus  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  as  she 

glided  into  her  seat  between  one  of  the  Burnetts  and  a  tall,  big, 
sli.ipeless-looking  man  with  red  hair,  small  sharp  'eyes,  a  yellow- 
ochreish  complexion,  and  craggy  temples,  who  had  risen  courteously 
to  make  room  for  her. 

"God  bless  my  soul !"  he  exclaimed,  turning  red— a  dull  deep  red. 
"I  remember  perfectly— that  is,  I  don't  remember  uou  ;  I  remem- 
bei-  your  father.  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know  how  I  could  have  forgotten 
vou,  '  with  a  shy,  admiring  glance. 

'  "Xor  I  either,"  cried  Colonel  Ormonde,  who  sat  opposite, 
"Thou^-h  Mrs.  Liddell  does  not  seem  to  remember  »?r." 

"  AVhv,  I  onh^  saw  you  yesterday,  and  I  am  sure  I  bowed  to  you 
as  I  cain.^  in."  So  saying,  Mrs.  Liddell  lifted  her  head  with  a  sweet 
caressing  smile  to  the  eldest  of  the  Burnett  boys,  who  himself 
brought  her  some  pigeon  pie ;  and  from  that  moment  she  devoted 


A.  CROOKED  PATH.  89 

herseH  to  her  new  acquaintance,  utterly  reg-ardless  of  the  hitherto 
tenderly  cultivated  Colonel. 

Kirby,  a  newly  arrived  Indian  magistrate,  was  not  given  to  con- 
versjition,  but  he  was  assiduous  in  attending  to  his  fair  neighbor's 
want's,  and  seemed  to  like  listening'  to  her  lively  remarks. 

Colonel  Ormonde  glanced  at  them  from  time  to  time  ;  he  was 
amazed  and  indi"'nant  that  Mrs.  Liddell  could  attend  to  any  one 
save  himself.  He  was  rather  unfortunately  placed  between*^  Miss 
Burnett,  whose  attention  was  taken  up  by  Sir  Ralph  Brereton,  a 
marriageable  baronet,  who  sat  on  her  other  side,  and  Lady  .\lice 
Mordaunt,  a  timid,  colorless,  but  graceful  girl,  still  in  the  school- 
room, who  scarcely  spoke  at  all,  and  if  she  did,  always  to  her  rii,''ht- 
hand  neighbor,  a  stately-looking  man  with  grave  dark  e\'es,  which 
saveii  him  from  being  plain,  and  a  clear  colorless  brown  complexion. 
He  said  very  little,  but  his  voice,  though  rather  cold,  was  pleasant 
and  rjlined," conveying  the  impression  that  he  was  accustomed  to  be 
heard  with  attention.  He  too  was  very  attentive  to  Lady  Alice,  but 
in  a  kind,  fctherly  way,  as  if  she  were  a  helpless  creature  under  his 
care. 

"  I  believe  we  are  quite  an  Indian  party,"  said  Mrs.  Burnett,  look- 
ing down  the  table  "Of  course  my  children  are  Indian  by  inheri- 
tance ;  then  there  are  Mr  Kirby  and  Mr.  Errington  "—nodding  t .  the 
dark  man  uQxt  Lady  Alice— 'and  Colonet  Ormonde." 

"  I  am  not  Indian,  you  know ;  I  was  only  quartered  in  India 
for  a  few  years,"  returned  Ormonde,  contradictiously 

"  And  I  was  only  a  visitor  for  one  season's  tiger-shooting,"  said 
Brereton. 

"  And  I  do  not  want  to  go,"  cried  Tom  Burnett ;  "  I  want  to  be  an 
attache" 

"Oh  yes;  you  speak  so  many  languages!"  said  his  younger 
sister. 

"  I  certainly  do  not  consider  myself  an  old  Indian,"  said  the 
man  ad  iressed  as  Errington,  "  though  I  have  visited  it  more  than 
once." 

"  You  an  Indian !"  cried  Orm  nde.  "  Why,  vou  have  just  started 
as  an  English  country  gentleman.  We  are  to  have  Erring-ton  for  a 
comrade  on  the  bench  and  in  the  field  down  in  Clayshire.  His  father 
ha."^  bought  Garston  Hall— quite  close  to  Melford,  Ijady  Alice.  But  I 
suppose  you  know  all  about  it." 

"  Yes,^'  said  Lady  Alice,  in  a  one  wliich  might  be  affirma- 
tion or  interrogation.  "There  are  such  pretty  walks  in  Garston 
Woods !" 

"  Errington  was  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,"  returned 
Ormonde.  "  Garsion  dwarfs  Castleford,  I  can  tell  you.  It  was  a 
good  deal  out  of  repair— the  Hall  I  mean  ?" 

"  It  is.  We  do  not  expect  to  get  it  into  thorough  repair  till  winter 
Then  I  hope,  Mrs.  Burnett,  you  will  honor  us  by  a  visit,"  said 
Errington. 

"  Wi  h  the  greatest  pleasure,"  exclaimed  the  hostess. 

"  And  oh,  Mr.  Errington,  do  give  a  ball !"  cried  Fanny,  the  second 
daughter. 

"1  fear  that  is  beyond  my  powers.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  danced 
in  my  life." 


40  A  CEOOKED  PATH. 

"  Are  you  to  be  of  the  party  on  board  Lord  Melford's  yacht  ?"  asked 
Ormonde,  speaking*  to  Lady  Alice. 

"  Oh  no.  I  am  to  stay  with  Aunt  Harriet  at  the  Rectory  all  the 
summer." 

"  Ah,  that  is  too  bad.     You'd  like  sailing  about,  I  dare  say  ?" 

"  Oh,  yachting"  must  be  the  most  delightful  thing  in  the  world," 
cri'd  Mrs.  Liddell,  from  her  place  opposite.  "  If  I  were  you  I  should 
coa"  'Tiv  father  to  let  me  g'o. 

"  i  .  •!  knows  best.  I  am  very  fond  of  the  Rectory,"  said  Lady 
Alice,  ..iiisliing  at  bein"-  so  publicly  addressed. 

"  And  ,')ii  understand  the  beauty  of  obedience,"  said  Errington, 
with  grave  approval. 

"Now,  if  you  intend  to  see  the  whole  '  fun  of  the  fair,' "  said  Mrs. 
Burnett,  "  j'ou  had  better  be  going,  young  people.  The  ca'  ria^-e  is 
to  come  back  for  us  after  setting  you  down  at  the  theatre.  Who 
are  going?  My  girls,  Lady  Alice,  and  Mrs.  Liddell?  Who  is  to  be 
their  escort  ?    Colonel  Ormonde  ?" 

He  glanced  across  the  table.  Mrs.  Liddell  sent  no  glance  in  his 
direction  ;  she  again  devoted  her  attention  to  Kirby. 

"  No,  thank  you.  To  be  intensely  amused  from  tAvo  to  six  is  more 
than  I  can  stand ;  besides,  I  hope  to"  meet  you  at  Lady  Maclean's  this 
afternoon." 

"I  have  an  engagement,  a  business  en^-agement  at  three,"  said 
Errington  :  "  but  I  shall  be  happy  to  call  for  these  ladies  and  see 
them  home." 

"You  need  not  take  that  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Burnett.  "  My  son 
will  be  in  the  theatre  later,  and  take  charge  of  them  ;  but  there  is 
still  a  place  in  the  box.     Will  you  go,  Mr.  Kirby :-"' 

"Oh.  pray  do  !"  cried  Mrs.  "^Liddell.  "You  will  be  sure  to  be 
amused  ;  a  "matinee  of  this  kind  is  g-reat  fun.  There  is  singing  and 
dancing  and  acting  and  recitations  of  all  kinds."  She  sjx)ke  in  her 
liveliest  manner  and  her  sweetest  tones. 

' '  You  are  very  good.  I  have  not  been  in  a  theatre  since  I  arrived  ; 
so  if  you  really  have  a  place  for  me,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  accom- 
pany Von."     " . 

"Tl'iat's  settled.  Go  and  put  on  your  hats,  my  dears,"  said  Mrs. 
Burnett  ;  and  her  daugiiters,  with  Lady  Alice,  left  the  room. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Liddell,  have  you  persuaded  your  handsome  sister-in- 
law  to  join  our  party  on  Thursday  ?"  asked  Ormonde. 

"  I  have  really  had  no  time  to  speak  much  to  her.  An  old  uncle 
of  hers,  as  rich  as  a  Jew  and  a  perfect  miser,  sent  his  lawverfor  her 
this  morning.  I  suppose  he  is  going  to  make  her  his  heiress.  I 
hope  they  will  give  a  share  to  my  poor  little  boys.  I  am  going  to 
take  them  to  ask  a  bles.sing  from'  their  aged  relative,  I  assure  you." 

"  Oh  yes,  by  George  !  you  try  and  hold  on  to  him.  The  little  fel- 
loAvs  ought  to  have  the  biggest  share,  of  course,  as  the  vmheir's 
children.  Why,  it  Avould  change  your  position  altogether  if  your 
boys  had  ten  or  tifteen  thou.  b(!t\veen  them." 

"Or  apiece,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  careles.sly.  She  was  immensely 
amused  by  the  Colonel's  tone  of  deep  intpre.st.  "You  may  be  very 
sure  I  shall  do  my  best.     I  know  the  value  of  money." 

"  May  I  ask  where  this  Mr.  Liddell  resides?"  asked  Mr.  Errington, 
joining"  tliem,  with  a  bow  to  the  young  widow. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  41 

"  I  really  do  not  know,  though  he  is  my  uncle-in-law.  Pray  do 
you  know  him  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  know  of  him,  but  we  are  not  personally  acquainted." 

"  And  is  he  not  supposed  to  be  verj'-  rich  >"' 

"That  I  cannot  say  ;  but  I  have  an  idea  that  he  is  well  off." 

With  another  bow  Erringtou  retreated  to  say  good-morning"  to  his 
hostess. 

"  Well,  whether  your  sister-in-law  comes  or  not,  I  hope  we  are 
sure  of  your  charming  self  ?"  said  Ormonde. 

"  Unless  I  am  obliged  to  parade  my  boys  for  their  grand-uncle's 
inspection,  I  am  sure  to  honor  3^ou." 

"Of  course  everything  must  give  away  to  that.  I  shall  come  and 
inquire  what  news  soon,  if  I  may?" 

"Oh  yes  ;  come  when  you  like." 

"They  are  all  ready,  Mrs.  Lidd^^ll,"  remarked  her  hostess. 

Mr.  Kirby  offered  liis  arm,  which  was  accepted  with  a  smile,  and 
the  little  widow  sailed  away  with  the  sense  of  riding  on  the  crest  of 
a  wave.  The  ladies  were  packed  into  the  carriage,  the  polite  man 
out  of  livery  whistled  up  a  hansom  for  the  two  gentlemen,  and  the 
luncheon  party  was  over. 

It  was  a  weary  day  to  Mrs.  Liddell— the  dowager  Mrs.  Liddell,  as 
.society  would  have  called  her,  only  she  had  no  dower.  All  she  had 
inherited  from  her  husband  was  the  remnant  of  his  debts,  which  she 
had  been  struggling  for  some  years  to  pay  off,  and  the  care  and 
maintenance  of  her  boy  and  girl,  on  her  own  slender  funds. 

At  pi'esent  the  horizon  looked  very  dark,  and  she  almost  regretted 
for  Katherine's  sake  that  she  had  agreed  to  make  a  home  for  her 
son's  widow  and  children.  Yet  what  Avould  have  become  of  them 
without  it  ? 

Partly  to  rouse  herself  from  her  fruitless  reflections,  partly  to  re- 
lieve the  house-maid,  who  had  been  doing  some  extra  scrubbing, 
Mrs.  Liddell  took  her  little  grandsons  to  Kensington  Gardens,  and 
when  they  had  selected  a  plac3  to  play  in  she  sat  down  with  a  book 
<vhich  she  had  brought  in  the  vain  "hope  of  getting  out  of  herself. 
But  her  sight  was  soon  diverted  from  the  page  before  her  by  the 
Visions  which  came  thronging  from  the  thicklv  peopled  past. 

Her  life  had  been  a  hard  continuous  fight  with  difficulty  after  the 
flrst  few  years  of  her  wedded  existence.  She  had  seen  her  gay, 
pleasure-loving  husband  change  under  the  ir">n  grasp  of  untoAvard 
circumstances  into  a  querulous,  bitter,  disaj;;.  ;inc(id  man,  rewarding 
all  her  efforts  to  keep  their  heads  above  water  by  sarcastic  com]ilaints 
of  her  narrow  stinginess,  venting  on  her  the  remorseful 
consciousness,  unacknowledged  to  himself,  that  his  reverses 
were  the  result  of  his  own  reckless  extravagance.  Perhaps 
to  her  true  heart  the  crudest  pain  of  all  was  the  gradual  dying  out, 
or  rather  killing  out,  of  the  love  she  once  bore  him,  the  vanishing, 
one  by  one,  of  the  illusions  she  cherished  respecting  him,  till  she  saw 
the  man  as  he  really  v.as,  v/eak,  unsta#)le,  self-indulgent,  incapable 
of  true  manliness.  Still  she  was  pationt  with  him  to  the  last ;  and 
when  she  was  relievoxi  by  friendly  death  from  the  charge  of  so  wil- 
ful and  ungrateful  a  burden— though  things  were  easier,  because 
hers  was  the  sole  authority— it  was  a  constant  strain  to  provide  the 


42  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

ediTC<ation  necessary  for  her  boy.  But  that  accomplished,  she  had  a 
sweet  interlude  with  her  dauo-fiter  in  humble  peace,  and  while  she 
did  her  best  to  arm  the  child  for  the  conflict  of  life,  she  avoided 
weakening-  herself  by  too  much  thought  for  her  future.  This  spell 
of  reoose  was  broken  by  the  necessity  for  sacrificing  some  of  her 
small  capital  to  set  her  son  free  from  his  embarrassments.  Then 
came  his  death  and  her  present  experiment  in  housekeeping'  in  order 
to  ffive  his  widow  and  children  a  refuge. 

For  the  last  four  or  hve  years  she  had  made  a  welcome  addition  to 
her  small  income  by  her  pen,  contributing-  to  th  •  smaller  weekly 
periodicals  stories  and  sketches  ;  for  Mrs.  Liddell  had  seen  mucn 
with  keen,  observant  eyes,  and  had  a  fair  share  of  humor.  This 
small  success  had  tempted  her  to  spend  several  months  on  a  three- 
volume  novel,  thereby  depriving-  herself  of  present  remuneration 
which  shorter,  lig-hter  tales  had  bi*ouo-ht  in.  She  sorely  feared  this 
ambitious  step  was  a  mistake — that  she  had  over-estimated  her  own 
powers.  She  feared  that  she  could  never  manag-e  to  keep  up  the 
very  humble  establishment  she  had  started.  Above  all,  she  feared 
that  her  own  health  and  physical  force  were  failing-.  It  was  such  an 
effort  to  do  much  that  formerly  was  as  nothing-.  That  attack  of 
bronchicis  last  spring-  had  tried  her  severely  ;  she  had  never  felt 
quite  the  same  since.  And  if  she  were  called  awaj'-,  what  would 
become  of  Katherine?  Never  was  there  a  dearer  daughter  than 
her  Katie.  She  knew  every  turn,  every  lig-ht  and  shade  in  her 
nature— her  faults,  her  pride  and  hastiness"!  her  deep,  tender  heart. 
A  sob  rose  in  her  throat  at  the  idea  of  Katherine  being  left  alone  to 
engage  single-handed  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  No !  She 
tcould  live !— she  would  battle  on  with  poverty  and  difficulty  till 
Katherine  was  a  few  years  older  ;  till  she  was  stronger  and  better 
able  to  stand  alone. 

"  Yet  she  is  strong  and  brave  for  nineteen,"  thought  the  mother, 
proudly.  "Perhaps  I  have  kept  her  too  much  by  my  side.  I  wish  I 
could  let  her  pay  a  visit  to  the  Mitchells.  They  have  asked  her  re- 
peatedly ;  but  we  must  not  think  of  it  at  present." 

Here  her  little  grandsons,  who  had  more  than  once  broken  in  upon 
her  musings,  came  running  across  the  grass  to  inform  her  they  were 
sure  it  w^as  tea-time,  as  they  were  very  hungry. 

"Then  we  shall  go  home,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell",  immediately  clearing 
her  face  of  its  look  of  gloom,  and  rising  to  accompany  them,  cheered 
by  the  thought  that  perhaps  Katie's  dear  face  might  be  ready  towel- 
come  her. 

But  neither  daughter  nor  daughter-in-law  awaited  her,  and  a 
couple  of  hours  went  slowly  over— slowly  and  wearily,  for  sheforcod 
herself  to  tell  the  boys  a  couple  of  thrilling  tales,  before  they  went 
to  bed,  to  keep  them' quiet  and  cool.  Then,  with  promises  that  both 
mamma  and  auntie  should  come  and  kiss  them  as  soon  as  they  re- 
turnai,  she  dismissed  the  little  fellows. 

It  was  past  seven  when  Kathoxine  at  last  app:iared  at  the  garden 
gate. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  in  before  Ada,"  cried  Mrs.  Liddell, 
embracing  her.     "  A  re  you  very  tired,  dearest  ?'' 

"  No,  not  nearlv  so  tii-ed  as  yesterday  ;  and,  mother  dear,  I  think 
that  strange  old  man  will  certainly  giv"e  us  the  money." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  43 

"Thank  God  !    Tell  me  all  about  your  dav." 

"It  was  all  very  funny,  but  not  terrible,  like  yesterday.  My 
uncle  seems  determined  to  make  a  cook  of  me.  He  would  not  let 
them  buy  or  prepare  any  food  for  him,  except  a  cup  of  tea  and  some 
toast,  until  I  came.  How  that  frail  old  man  can  exist  upon  so  little 
nourishment  I  cannot  imag-ine  ;  but  thoujrh  I  seem  to  give  him 
satisfaction,  he  does  not  express  any.  While  he  and  Mr.  Newton 
talked  I  was  sent  to  look  at  the  condition  of  the  rooms  upstairs. 
Such  a  condition  of  dust  and  neg-lect  you  could  not  conceive. 
Oh,  the  2-loom  and  misery  of  the  whole  house  is  beyond  de- 
scription !" 

"  Did  you  g-et  anything-  to  eat  yourself?"  asked  Mrs.  Liddell. 

"Yes;  Mr.  Newton,  who  is  really  kind  and  friendly  under  his 
cool,  precise  exterior,  sent  for  some  cakes.  He  staid  a  g-ood  while. 
I  think  he  has  a  g-ood  deal  of  influence  on  Mr.  Liddell.  (I  can  hardly 
call  him  uncle.)  He  was  more  polite  when  Mr.  Newton  was  present 
When  he  was  g-oing-  away  he  said,  'I  am  happy  to  say  I  have  con- 
vinced Mr.  Liddell  that  you  are  his  niece,  and  if  you  and  your 
mother  will  call  upon  me  at  noon  to-morrow,  the  loan  you  wish  for 
can  be  arrang-ed,  if  you  will  ag-ree  to  certain  conditions,  which  I 
should  like  to  explain  both  to  you  and  to  Mrs.  Liddell.'  He  o-ave 
me  his  card.    Here  it  is.    He  has  written  '  twelve  to  one  '  on  itf" 

"  They  must  be  very  hard  conditions  if  we  cannot  ag-ree  to  them,'* 
said  Mrs.  Liddell,  taking  out  her  porte-monnaie  and  putting-  the 
card  into  it.  "  This  is  indeed  a  Godsend,  Katie,  dear.  I  am  thank- 
ful you  had  the  pluck  to  attack  the  old  lion  in  his  den," 

"Lion  !  Hyena  rather.  Yet  I  cannot  help  feeling-  sorry  for  him. 
Think  of  passing-  away  without  a  soul  to  care  whether  vou  live  or 
die— without  one  pleasant  memory  !" 

"His  memories  are  anything-  but  pleasant,"  returned  Mrs.  Lid- 
dell, gravely.  "His  wife,  of  whom  1  believe  he  was  fond  in  his 
own  way,  left  him  when  their  only  child,  a  son,  was  about  ten  years 
old.  This  seemed  to  turn  his  blood  to  g-all.  He  took  an  unnatural 
dislike  to  his  poor  bov,  and  treated  him  so  badly  that  he  ran  away 
to  sea.  Poor  fellow  ?  he  used  sometimes  to  write  to  your  father 
Their  mutual  dislike  to  John  Liddell  was  a  kind  of  bond  between 
them.  It  is  an  unhappy  story,  for,  as  I  told  you,  he  was  afterward 
killed  at  the  g-old  dig-gings. 

'^  Very  dreadful !"  said  Katherine,  thoughtfully.  "  What  a  cruel 
v'sitin^  of  the  mother's  sin  on  the  unfortunate  child  !— that  horrible 
bit  of  the  decalogue  !  With  all  his  icy  cold  selfishness  Mr.  Liddell 
is  a  gentleman.  His  voice  is  refined,  and  except  when  he  was  car- 
ried away  by  hi-<  fury  against  his  roguish  housekeeper  he  seems  to 
have  a  certain  self-respect.  After  Mr.  Newton  went  away  I  read  for 
a  long  time  all  the  money  articles  in  two  penny  papers,  for  the  Times 
had  been  taken  away.  Then  I  wrote  a  couple  of  kjtters,  and  all  my 
uncle  said  was :  '  So  it  seems  you  really  are  my  niece.  Well  I 
hope  you  know  more  of  the  value  of  money  than  either  your  father 
or  mother.'  I  could  not  let  that  pass,  and  said,  'My  father  died 
when  I  was  too  young  to  know  him  ;  but  no  one  could  manage 
money  better  nor  with  greater  care  than  my  mother.'  He  staredat 
me.    '  I  am  glad  to  hear  it, '  he  returned,  very  dryly.    He  had  anotd 


44  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

from  his  stock-broker  in  reply  to  one  I  wrote  for  !  ira  yesterday.  He 
seemed  greatly  pi.-ased  with  it.  He  kept  chuekling"  and  murniuring, 
'Just  in  time,' just  in  time  !'  " 

"Perhaps  he  will  fancy  you  bring  him  luck." 

"  J  am  awfully  afraid  he  will  want  me  to  go  and  read  to  him  every 
day,  for  when  I  was  directing  one  of  the  letters  he  said,  as  though 
to  hims.df,  '  If  she  can  read  and  write  for  me  1  need  not  buy  a  new 

Eair  of  spectacles.'    It  would  be  too  dreadful  to  be  with  that"^ cynical 
yena  ever}'  day." 

"  Oh,  when  he  gets  a  good  servant  he  will  not  want  vou," 
"I  hope  not." 

"Now  come,  you  must  have  your  supper,  dear  I  am  sure  you 
have  earned  it.  *  We  will  have  it  quietly  together  before  Ada  comes 
back.    I  feel  so  r«}Iieved,  I  shall  be  able  to  eat  now." 


CHAPTER  V. 

"into  the  shadows." 

To  avoid  Mrs.  Frederic  Liddell's  almost  screaming  curiosity  was  not 
easy,  and  to  appease  it  Kate  a.ssumed  an  air  of  frankness,  saying 
that  she  believed  Mr  Liddell  merely  wished  to  test  her  powers  as 
secretary,  and  that  sli3  hoped  she  h  id  not  siicceixled  too  well. 

"  Oh,  you  lazy  thing  !  You  really  ought  to  try  and  get  in  with 
him.     Oughtn't  she,  Mrs.  Liddell?'" 

"Yes,  certainlj^',  if  she  can  ;  but  I  fancy  it  will  not  be  so  easy. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  to-day,  Ada  r*" 

"Oh,  nothing" — in  a  rather  discontented  tone.  "Why  do  j'ou 
ask?" 

"  Because  I  am  obliged  to  go  into  toT\'n  on  a  matter  of  business, 
and  1  want  to  take  Katherine." 

"  Well,  I  ^'1  look  after  the  l)oys" — condescendingly,  as  if  it  were 
not  her  legitimate  busine.'-s.  "  Jiut  I  really  thi^.k  you  worry  too 
much  about  those  tiresome  publishers.  They  would  think  more  of  you 
if  you  troubled  them  less.  Your  mother  "^looks  pale  and  fagged, 
Katherine." 

"Yes,  she  does  indeed,"  looking  anxiously  at  her. 
"  I  am  afraid  the  publishers  would  leave  me  too  utterly  undisturb- 
ed if  I  left  them  alone,"  returned  Mrs.  Liddell,  smiling,  and  I'aving 
the  suggestion  uncontradicted.      This  conversation  took  place  at 
breakfast. 

Mother  and  daug'hter  made  the  journey  cityward  very  silently, 
both  a  good  deal  occupied  conjecturing  what  "^conditions  John  Lid- 
dell could  possibly  mean  to  impose.  Perhaps  only  a  very  high  rate 
of  interest,  which  would  cost  no  small  effort  to  spare  frora  their  nar- 
row income. 

Mr.  Newton  i*eceived  his  visitors  directly  their  namas  were  sent  up 
to  him.  His  was  an  eminent  firm  ;  their  offices,  light,  clean,  well 
furnished,  an  abode  which  imnressed  those  who  entered  with  the 
idea  of  fair  dealing,  and  forbade  the  notion  of  dark  dusty  corners 
moral  or  physical. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  45 

Katherine's  quick  eyes  took  in  the  aspect  of  the  place  :  the  book- 
shelves, where  stores  of  leg-al  learning  in  calf-bound  volumes  were 
ranged  ;  the  various  brown  tin  boxes  with  names  in  white  paint 
suggestive  of  the  title-deeds  "of  all  the  land";  the  big  knee-hole 
table  loaded  with  papers  ;  the  heavy  chairs  upholstered  in  the  best 
leather  for  the  patients  who  came  to  be  treated  ;  and  Mr.  Newton 
himself,  more  intensely  cleaned  up  and  starched  than  ever,  in  an 
oaken  seat  of  mediaeval  form. 

He  rose  and  set  chairs  for  Mrs.  Liddell  and  her  daughter  himself ; 
then  he  riistled  among  his  papers,  and  spoke  down  a  tube. 

*'  Ahem  I  "  he  beo-an.  "  Your  brother  in  law,  madam,  is  a  man  of 
peculiar  character,  but  by  no  in  jans  without  discrimination.  Thank 
you" — to  a  clerk  who  b.oi'h:;  in  a  long  folded  paper  and  laid  it 
beside  him,  disappearing  ;iackly.  "By  no  means  without  discrim- 
ination," repeated  Mr.  Newton.  "  Unfortunately  the  love  of  money 
grows  on  a  childless  man,  and  his  terms  for  the  loan  3'ou  require  may 
not  meet  yoixr  approbation." 

"Pray  what  are  they?"  asked  Mrs.  Liddell. 

"  My  Vlient  will  accept  a  bill  of  sale  on  your  fur  iture  as  security, 
but  he  will  give  you  a  jx^riod  of  eighteen  "months  to  repay  him,  and 
he  will  charge  ten  per  cent.:  but  if  you  agree  to  another  condition, 
which  I  will  explain,  he  will  be  content  with  five  psr  cent." 

'This  must  be  a  severe  condition,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  with  a 
slight  sniih',. 

"  No  ;  it  niny  prove  a  fortunate  condition,"  said  the  lawyer,  with 
some  hesitatiiiii.  "In  short,  I  have  persuaded  Mr.  Liddell  to  allow 
me  to  choose  him  a  respectable  servant  at  fair  wages.  The  state  into 
which  he  has  fallen  is  d/'plorable.  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  remonstrate 
with  him,  and  he  is  not  averse  to  my  infiucnce.  I  therefore  pressed 
upon  him  the  necessity  of  having  a  better  class  of  housekeeper,  a 
person  who  could  read  to  him  and  write  for  hira,  and  would  be  above 
drink  and  pilfering." 

"What  did  he  say  to  that?"  asked  Katherine,  with  a  bright, 
amused  look. 

"He  said,  very  decidedly  :  '  I  will  have  that  giirl  you  say  is  my 
niece  to  be  my  housekeeper  and  reader.  She  gave  me  tiie  Ijest  and 
cheapest  dinner  I  ever  ate  ;  her  letter  to  my  stock -broker  brought 
me  luck  ;  and  I  will  pay  ready  money  foreverything,  so  she  shall  not 
be  able  to  leave  books  unpaid.  If  she  comes  I  will  be  content  with  five 
per  cent,  on  the  loan,  which  must  do  instead  of  salarv  ;  and  if  she 
refuses,  why,  so  do  L'  An  ungracious  speech,  Mrs.  Liddell,  but  there 
is  the  condition." 

"Do  you  mean  my  brother-in-law  will  refuse  to  help  me  if  my 
daughter  does  not  go  to  manage  his  house  ?" 

"So  he  says." 

"  But  did  you  not  say  at  first  that  he  would  take  ten  per  cent, 
without  this  sacrifice  ?" 

"  He  said  so  at  first ;  then  this  plan  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  ho 
was  very  firm  about  it." 

"  It  is' an  awful  place  to  go  to."  The  words  burst  from  Katherine's 
lips  before  she  could  stop  herself. 

"lean  hardly  agree  to  such  a  condition  as  this,"  cried  Mrs. 
Liddell. 


46  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"And  I  must  ur^e  you  not  to  reject  it,"  said  Mr.  Newton,  impres- 
sively, "for  tlie  sake  of  your  daug-hter  and  g^rai.dsons.  I  must 
point  out  that  by  refusing"  you  not  only  d^-prive  yourself  of  the  tem- 
porary aid  you  require,  "but  you  cut  off  your  daug-hter  from  all 
chance  of  winning'  over  her  imcle  by  the  inliuence  of  her  presence. 
Propinquity,  my  dear  madam — propinquity  s  anetimes  worls  won- 
ders ;  and  Mr.  Liddell  has  a  g'reat  deal  in  his  power.  I  would  not 
encourage  false  hopes,  but  this  is  a  chance  you  mav  never  have 
ag'ain— a  chance  of  sharing  her  uncle's  fortune.  If  she  refuses,  he 
■will  never  see  her  again." 

Silence  ensued.  The  choice  was  a  grave  difficulty.  Mrs.  Liddell 
looked  at  Katherine,  and  Katherine  looked  at  the  carpet. 

Suddenly  Katherine  looked  up  quickly,  and  said,  in  a  clear,  decided 
voice;  "  1  will  go.  1  will  undertake' the  office  of  secretary  and 
housekeeper— at  least  until  mv  mother  pays  off  this  loan." 

"Katie,  my  child,  how  shal"!  you  be  able  to  bear  it?" 

"Miss  Liddell  has  decided  wisely  and  well,"  said  the  lawyer.  "1 
earnestly  hope— nay,  J  believe— she  will  reap  a  rich  reward  for  her 
self-sacrifice." 

"  But,  Mr.  Newton,  I  cannot  consent  without  some  rellection.  I 
too  have  some  conditions  to  impose." 

"And  they  are?"  put  in  Newton,  uneasily. 

"  I  cannot  define  them  all  clearly  on  the  spur  of  the  moment ;  but 
1  must  have  leave  to  go  and  see  my  daughter  whenever  I  choo.se, 
and  she  must  have  the  right  to  spend  one  day  in  the  week  at 
home." 

"This  might  be  arranged,"  said  the  lawyer,  thoughtfully.  "Be 
brave,  my  dear  madam.  Sacrifice  something  of  the  present  to  secure 
future  good." 

"  Provided  we  do  not  pay  too  high  a  price  for  a  doubtful  benefit. 
It  will  be^errible  for  a  young  girl  to  be  the  bond-slave  of  such  a  man 
as  John  Liddell." 

"  Well,  mother,  I  am  quite  willing  to  undertake  the  task.  Not 
that  I  am  going  to  be  a  bond-slave,  but  as  soon  as  you  have  paid 
your  debt,  i  shall  consider  myself  free." 

"  By  that  time,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  hope  you  will  have  made 
yourself  of  so  much  Importance  to  your  uncle  that  he  will  make  it 
worth  your  while  to  Rtry."  e.xclaimed  Newton,  who  was  evidently 
actuated  by  a  friendly  feeling  toward  both  mother  and  daughter. 

"  He  must  bribe  high,  then,"  returned  Kate,  laughing. 

"Then  may  I  inform  Mr.  Liddell  that  you  accept  his  proposition? 
and  you  are  prepared  to  begin  your  duties  at  once  !  Remember  he 
considers  his  acceptance  of  live  Instead  of  ten  per  cent,  frees  him 
from  the  necessuty  of  paying  you  anv  salary." 

"  Surely  the  laooror  is  wort'hy  of  his  hire,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  madam  ;  but  the  casa  is  a  jxiculiar  one." 

Some  more  particulars  Avere  discussed  and  arranged  ;  Mr.  Newton 
begged  Mrs.  Liddell  to  look  out  for  and  select  a  servant,  that  Kath- 
erine might  begin  with  some  pro.spect  of  comfort.  It  was  settled 
that  an  interview  should  be  arranged  between  Mrs.  Liddell  and  her 
brother-in-law  on  the  day  but  one  following,  at  which  Mr.  Newton 
was  to  awist.    Finally  she  signed  a  paper,  and  received  six  lovely 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  47 

new  crisp  bank-notes,  the  magic  touch  of  which  has  so  marvellously 
reviving-  an  effect. 

Katherine  slipped  her  arm  through  her  mother's  and  pressed  it 
lovingly  as  they  walked  to  the  Metropolitan  station  for  their 
return  journey.  *'  Now,  dear,  you  will  have  a  little  peace,"  she 
said. 

"  Dear-bought  peace,*  my  darling.  I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to 
such  a  fate  for  you." 

"  Still,  the  money  is  a  comfort." 

"It  is  indeed.  I  will  pay  the  rent  to-day,  and  to-morrow  I  will 
give  Ada  her  money.  That  will  be  an  inlinite  relief.  And  still  I 
shall  have  a  few  pounds  left.  Katie  dear,  is  it  not  too  dreudful, 
the  prospect  of  eating,  drinking,  sleeping,  and  beginning 
di  nuovn  each  morning  in  that  gloomy  house  i*  How  shall  you 
bear  it?" 

"  You  shall  see.  If  I  can  have  a  little  chat  with  you  every  week 
I  shall  be  able  for  a  good  deal.  Then,  remember,  the  book  still 
remains.  When  that  succeeds  we  may  snap  our  fingers  at  rich 
uncles." 

"When  that  time  comes,"  interrupted  her  mother,  "you  will  be 
tied  to  the  poor  old  miser  by  habit  and  the  subtle  claims  which  pity 
and  comprehension  weave  round  the  sympathetic." 

"Oh,  if  I  ever  grow  to  like  him  it  will  simplify  matters  very- 
much.  I  almost  nope  I  may,  but  it  is  not  likely.  How  strange  it 
will  be  to  live  in  a  difFerent  house  from  you  !  How  dreadfully  the 
boys  will  tease  you  when  I  am  away  !  Come ;  suppose  we  go  and 
see  the  Cheerful  Visitor— the  editor,  I  mean— before  we  return,  and 
then  we  can  say  we  hnve  been  to  a  publisher.  I  really  do 
not  think  Ada  knows  the  difference  between  an  editor  and  a 
publisher." 

"  Very  likely  ;  nor  would  you,  probably,  if  you  had  not  a  mother 
who  scribbles  weak  fiction." 

"  It  is  a  great  deal  better  than  much  that  is  published  and  paid 
for,''  said  Katherine,  emphatically. 

"  Ah  !  Kate,  when  money  has  long  been  scarce  you  get  into  a  bad 
habit  of  estimating  things  merely  at  their  market  value.  However, 
let  us  visit  the  Cheerful  Visitor  on  our  homeward  way.  Or  course 
we  must  tell  Ada  of  the  impending  change,  but  we  need  not  explain 
too  much." 

The  journey  back  was  less  silent.  Both  mother  and  daughter 
were  oppressed  by  the  task  undertaken  by  the  latter.  But  Katherine 
was  successful  in  concealing  the  dismay  with  which  she  contemi)lated 
a  residence  with  John  Liddell.  "Whatever  happens,  I  must  not 
seem  afraid  of  him  or  he  afraid  of  him,"  she  thought,  with  instinc- 
tive perception.  "  I  will  try  to  do  what  is  just  and  ri^-ht,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  Providence.  It  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  nave  faith— to 
believe  that  if  you  do  the  right  thing  you  will  be  directed  and 
assisted  by  God.  What  strength  it  would  give  !  But  I  haven't 
faith.  I  cannot  believe  that  natural  laws  will  ever  be  changed  for 
me,  and  I  know  that  good,  honest,  industrious  creatures  die  of  hunger 
every  day.  No  matter.  "  Do  rightly,  come  what  may,"  is  the 
motto  of  every  true  soul.    I  don't  suppose  I  shall  melt  this  old  man's 


48  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

stony  heart,  but  I  will  do  my  best  for  him.  His  has  been  a  miser- 
able life  in  spite  of  his  money.  There  is  so  much  money  cannot 
buy  !" 

"  How  dreadfully  late  you  are  !"  said  Mrs.  Frederic,  querulousJy, 
when  they  reached  home.  "  I  really  could  not  keep  the  children 
waiting-  for  you,  so  we  iiave  finished  dinner  ;  but  Maria  is  keeping' 
the  mutton  as  hot  as  she  can  for  you.  D^ar  me  !  how  sick  I  am  of 
roast  mutton  !  but  I  suppose  it  is  cheap  "—contemptuously. 

"  Poor  dear  !  it  shall  have  somethnig  nice  to-morrow,''  returned 
Mrs.  Liddell,  with  her  usual  strong  g-ood  temper. 

"I  suppose  you  are  too  tired,  Katherine,  to  come  with  me.  The 
band  plays  in  Kensing'ton  Gardens  to-day,  and  I  wanted  so  much  to 
go  and  hear  it." 

"  1  am  indeed  !  Besides,  mother  has  a  great  deal  to  tell  you  when 
we  have  had  some  dinner  " 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  Has  your  book  been  accepted,  Mrs.  Liddell?  or  has 
that  terrible  uncle  of  ours  declared  Katherine  to  be  his  heiress?" 

"Have  a  little  patience,  and  vou  shall  hear  everything",  ' 

"I  am  dying-  oi curiosity  and  impatience  Here,  Sarah,  do  bring 
up  dinner— Mrs.  Liddell  is  so  hung-ry  !" 

The  announcement  that  Katherine  was  invited  to  live  with  John 
Liddell  created  a  tornado  of  amazement,  envy,  anticipation— with  an 
undercurrent  of  exultant  pride  that  they  were  at  last  recognized  by 
the  only  rich  man  in  the  family — in  the  mind  of  the  p*etty,  impres- 
sionable little  widow. 

"Gracious!  What  a  grand  thing  for  Kate!  But  she  will  be 
moped  to  death,  and  he  wUl  starve  her  Why,  Katherine,  when  it 
is  known  that  a  millionaire  has  adopted  you  his  den  will  be  besieged 
by  vour  admirers  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  Colonel  Ormonde 
d(!clared  himself.  Y^u  will  never.be  able  to  stand  such  a  life  for 
long  at  a  time  Suppose  Lrelieve  guard  every  fortnight?  You 
must  let  me  have  my  inningsltoo  Old  g-entlemen  always  like  me, 
1  am  .so  cheerful.  Then  I  might  have  the  boys  to  see  him ;  you 
know  lu-  ought  to  divide  the  property  between  us." 

"Of  course  he  oiight  I  wish  he  would  have  us  alternately;  it 
would  be  a  great  relief, "  said  Katherine,  laughing-. 

"  1  fancy  he  is  «»»-mensely  rich,"  continued  Ada  "Why,  Mr. 
Erring-ton  evidently  knew  his  name." 

"Who  is  Mr  fcrrington ?"  asked  Mrs,  Liddell,  with  languid 
curiosity 

"Did"  you  never  hear  of  the  Calcutta  Erringtons?"  cried  Ada, 
with  infinite  superiority.  "  There  are  as  rich  as  Jews,  and  one  oi 
the  g-reatest  houses  in  India.  Old  Mr  Errington  boug-ht  a  fine 
place  in  the  country  lately,  and  this  young  man— I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  if  he  ifi  young  ;  he  is  as  grave  as  a  judge  and  as  stit!"  as  a 
poker— at  all  events  he  is  an  only  son  I  met  him  at  the  Burnett's 
yesterday  Well,  he  seemed  to  know  Mr  Liddell's  r.ame  quite  well. 
Colonel  Ormonde  pricked  up  his  ears  too  when  I  .said  you  had  g-ono 
to  see  him.  It  is  a  g-reat  advantag-e  to  have  a  rich' old  bachelof 
uncle,  Katherine,  but  you  must  not  keep  him  all  to  yourself." 

The  next  few  days  were  agitated  and  much  occupied.    Xatherine 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  49 

went  for  part  of  each  to  read  and  write  and  market  for  the  old  re- 
cIt^;::,  and  he  grew  less  formidable,  but  not  more  likable,  as  he  be- 
came more  familiar.  He  was  an  extraordinary  exampleof  a  human 
being  converted  into  a  money-making  and  accumulating  machine. 
He  was  not  esp3cially  irritable  ;  indeed  his  physical  powers  were 
weak  and  dying  of  every  si:>ecies  of  starvatioh  ;  but  his  coldness 
was  supernatural.  Fortunately  for  Katherino,  his  former  house- 
keeper was  greedy  and  extravagant,  so  that  his  niece's  management 
seemed  wiso  and  economical,  and  she  had  an  excellent  backer-up 
in  Mr.  Newton. 

The  old  miser  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  see  his  sister-in-law  ; 
but  Mrs.  Liddell  insisted  on  an  interview,  and  Mr.  Newton  himself 
supported  her  through  the  trying  ordeal. 

The  mother's  heart  sank  within  her  at  she  sight  of  the  gloomy, 
desolate  abode  in  which  her  bri^-ht  daughter  was  to  be  immured  ; 
but  she  comforted  herself  by  reflecting  that  it  need  not  be  for   long. 

Mr.  Liddell  did  not  rise  from  the  easy-chair  in  which  he  sat 
crouched  together,  his  thin  gray  locks  escaping  as  usual  from  under 
the  skull-cap,  his  long  lean  brown  hands  grasping  the  arms  of  his 
chair,  when  Mrs.  Liddell  came  in  ;  neither  did  he  hold  out  his  hand. 
He  looked  at  her  fixedly  with  his  glittering  dark  eyes 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me  ?"  he  said.     "Why  ?" 

"  Because  ]  thought  it  right  to  see  and  speak  with  you  before  com- 
mitting my  only  child  to  your  keeping." 

'*  But  you  have  done  it !— She  has  agreed  to  the  conditions,  has'nt 
she  ?"  turning  to  Newton.  "  If  you  go  back,  I  must  have  my  money- 
back. " 

"Of  course,  my  dear  sir— of  course,"  soothingly. 

"  I  am  glad  that  Katherine  can  be  of  use  to  you.  I  do  not  wish  to 
retract  anything  I  hav^e  agreed  to,  but  I  wish  to  remind  you  that 
my  child  is  young  ;  that  you  must  let  her  go  in  and  out,  and  have 
opportunities  for  air  and  exercise  " 

"  She  may  do  as  she  likes  ;  she  can  do  anything.  So  long  as  she 
reads  to  me^  and  buys  my  food  without  wasting  my  money,  /  don't 
want  her  company.  She  seems  to  know  something  of  the  value  of 
money,  and  111  keep  her  in  pledge  till  you  have  paid  me.  I'll  never 
let  myself  be  cheated  again,  a"  1  was  by  your  worthless  husband." 

"  Let  the  dead  rest,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  sadly.  "  I  have  paid  you 
what  I  could." 

"  Av,  the  principal— the  bare  principal.  What  is  that?  Do  men 
lend  for  the  lov.;  of  lending?"  he  returned,  viciously. 

"  Pray  do  not  vex  yourself .  It  is  useless  to  look  back— annoying 
and  useless,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  decision. 

"  Usiili'ss  indeed !    What  more  have  you  to  say?" 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  room  my  daughter  is  to  occupy.  It  is  as 
well  she  should  have  the  comforts 'necessary  to  health,  for  all  our 
sakes.  }Vj?(  will  not  find  one  who  will  s.;rve  you  as  Katherine  can, 
even  for  a  hig-h  price.  I  think  you  feel  this  yourself,"  said  Mrs. 
Liddell,  steadily. 

"  You  may  go  where  you  like,  but  do  not  trouble  me.  You  can 
come  and  see  your  daughter,  but  I  shall  not  want  to  see  you  ;  and 
she  may  go  and  see  you  of  a  Sunday,  when  there  are  no  newspapers 


50  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

to  be  read  ;  but,  mark  you  I  will  not  pay  for  carriag'es  or  horses  or 
omnibuses  ;  and  mark  also  that  I  have  made  my  will,  and  I'll  not 
alter  it  in  any  one's  favor.  Your  daug'hter  will  have  her  food  and 
lodg'ing  and  my  countenance  and  pi'otection." 

"  She  has  done  without  these  for  nineteen  years,"  said  Mrs.  Lid- 
dell,  with  a  slig"ht  smile.  "  But  you  have  given  me  very  opportune 
help,  for  which  I  am  grateful ;  sol  have  accepted  your  terras.  Kate 
shall  stay  with  you  till  I  have  paid  you  principal  and  interest,  and 
then  /  warn  you  I  shall  I'cclaim  my  fiostage.'' 

"She'Ube  a  good  while  with  me,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer.  "None 
of  you— you,  your  husband,  or  your  son— ever  had  thirty  pounds 
to  sfare  in  your  lives." 

"Time  will  show,"  returned  Mrs.  Liddell,  with  admirable  steadi- 
ness and  temper.  "  Now  I  will  bid  you  good -day,  and  take  advan- 
tage of  your  permission  to  look  over  your  house." 

"  Let  me  show  you  the  way, "  said' Newton.  "I  shall  return  to 
you  presently,  Mr.  Liddell." 

The  old  man  bent  his  head.  "  See  that  the  girl  comes  to-morrow," 
he  said,  and  leaned  back  wearily  in  his  chair. 

The  friendly  lawyer  led  the  way  upstairs,  and  showed  Mrs.  Liddell 
a  large  room,"  half  bed,  half  sitting,  with  plenty  of  heavy  old-fashion- 
ed furniture.  "  This  was,  I  think,  the  drawing-room,"  said  Mr. 
NcAvton ;  "  and  having  extracted  permission  from  my  very  peculiar 
client  to  have  the  house  cleaned,  so  far  as  it  could  be  done,  which  it 
sorely  needed,  the  person  I  employed  selected  the  best  of  the  furni- 
ture for  this  room.  We  propose  to  give  the  next  room  at  the  back  to 
the  servant.    You  have,  I  believe,  found  one?" 

"Yes,  a  respectable  elderly  woman,  of  whom  I  have  had  an 
excellent  character." 

After  Mrs.  Liddell  had  visited  the  rooms  upstairs— mere  dismantl- 
ed receptacles  of  rubbish— and  they  returned  to  what  was  to  be 
Katherine's  abode,  she  sat  doM-n  on  the  ponderous  sofa,  and  in  spite 
of  her  efforts  to  control  herself  the  tears  would  well  up  and  roll  over. 

"I  feel  quite  ashamed  of  myself,"  said  she,  in  a  broken  voice* 
"but  when  I  think  of  my  Katie,  here  alone,  with  that  cruel  old  man, 
it  is  too  much  for  my  strength.  She  has  been  so  tenderly  reared, 
her  life,  though  quiet  and  humble,  has  been  so  cared  for,  so  tran- 
quil, that  I  shrink  from  the  idea  of  her  banishment  here." 

"It  is  not  unnatural,  my  dtur  madam,  but  indeed  the  trial  is 
worth  enduring.  Do  not  believe  that  the  will  of  which  Mr.  Liddell 
speaks  is  irrevocable.  He  has  made  two  or  three  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  and  it  would  be  foolish  to  cut  your  daughter"^  oft'  fro!:^ 
any  chance  of  sharing  his  fortune,  which  is  considerable,  I  ass  r 
you,  meroly  to  avoid  a  little  present  annoyance."  I 

'It  would  indeed.  Do  not  think  me  very  weak.  It  is  a  passing 
fit  of  the  dolefuls.  I  have  had  much  anxiety  of  late,  and  for  the 
moment  I  have  a  painful  feeling  that  I  have"^  sold  myself  and  my 
dear  daughter  into  the  hands  of  a  relentless  creditor  ;  that  I  shall 
never  free  my  neck  from  his  yoUe.  I  shall  probably  feel  differently 
to-morrow." 

"I dare  say  you  will.  You  are  a  lady  of  much  imagination  ;  a 
writer,  your  daughter  tells  roe.    Such  an  occupation  should  be  an 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  51 

ontlet  for  all  imaginative  terrors  or  anticipations,  and  leave  your 
mind,  your  judg-ment,  clear  and  free.  I  am  sure  Miss  Liddell  will 
do  her  uncle  and  herself  good  by  her  residence  here.  Mr.  Liddell 
has  been  a  source  of  anxiety  to  me  and  to  my  partners.  We  have 
you  know,  been  his  legal  advisers  for  years,  and  to  know  that  he  is 
m  good  hands  will  be  a  great  relief.  Rely  on  my— on  our  doing  our 
best  to  assist  your  daughter  in  every  way." 

Mrs.  Liddell,  perceiving  the  friendlv  spirit  which  actuated  the 
precise  lawyer,  thanked  him  warmly,  and  after  a  little  further  dis- 
cussion of  details,  took  her  way  home. 

From  the  step  she  had  voluntarily  taken  there  was  no  retreat,  nor, 
to  do  her  justice,  was  Katherine  Liddell  m  the  least  disposed  to  turn 
back,  having  once  put  her  hand  to  the  plough.  Indeed  the  blessed 
castle-building  powers  of  youth  disposed  her  to  rear  airv  edifices  as 
regarded  the  future,  which  lightened  the  present  gloom.  Suppose 
John  Liddell  were  to  soften  toward  her,  and  make  her  a  handsome 
present  occasionally,  or  forgive  this  debt  to  her  mother  ?  What  a 
delightful  reward  this  would  be  for  her  temporary  servitude  !  But 
though  Katherine  really  amused  herself  with  such  fancies,  they 
never  crystallized  into  hope.  Hope  still  plaved  round  her  mother's 
chance  of  success  with  the  publishers.  Not  that  she  fancied  her  dear 
mother  a  genius  ;  on  the  contrary,  because  she  was  her  mother,  she 
probably  undervalued  her  work  ;  but  she  knew  that  hundreds  of 
stories  printed  and  paid  for  lacked  the  common-sense  and  humor  of 
Mrs.  Liddell's. 

How  ardently  she  longed  to  give  her  mother  something  of  a  rest 
after  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  which  she  had  borne  so  well 
and  so  long— a  spell  of  peaceful  twilight  before  the  gray  shadows  of 
everlasting  darkness  closed,  or  the  brightness  of  eternal  light  broke 
upon  her  !  Yes,  she  would  stand  four-square  against  the  steely  ter- 
rors of  John  Liddell's  cold  egotism  and  penuriousnes.s.  against  the 
desolation  and  gloom  of  his  forbidding  abode,  the  crushing  sordidness 
of  an  existence  reduced  to  the  merest  straws  of  o-ustenance,  provided 
she  could  lighten  her  mother's  load— perhaps  secure  her  future  ease  ■ 
and  she  would  do  her  task  well,  thoroughly,  keeping  a  steady  heart 
and  a  bright  face.  Then,  should  the  tide  ever  turn,  what  d^^ep 
draughts  of  pleasure  she  would  drink  !  Katherine  was  not  socially- 
ambitious  ;  finery  and  grandeur  as  such  did  not  attract  her  •  but 
real  ioys,  beauty  and  gayety,  the  company  of  pleasant  people'  /  e 
people  who  suited  Jur,  graceful  surroundings,  becomino-  clothes 
and  plenty  of  them,  all  were  dear  and  delightful  to  her.  ' ' 

Some  of  these  things  she  had  tasted  when  she  lived  with  her 
mother  in  the  German  and  Italian  towns  where  she  had  been  ciiiefly 
educated  ;  the  rest  she  was  satisfied  to  imagine.  Above  all  she 
loved  to  charm  those  with  whom  she  associated— loved  it  in  a  half 
■unconscious  way.  Were  it  to  a  poor  blind  beggar  woman  or  a 
little  crossing  sweeper,  she  would  speak  as  gently  and  modulate  her 
voice  as  carefully  as  to  the  most  brilliant  partner  or  the  Greatest 
lady.  This  might  be  tenderness  of  nature,  or  the  profound  iistinct 
to  win  liking  and  admiration.  As  yet  it  was  quite  instinctive  •  but 
if  hurt  or  olfended  she  could  feel  resentment  very  vividl .  and'  was 
by  no  means  too  ready  to  forgive.  «  vvcts 


62  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Unfortunately  she  started  with  a  strong'  prejudice  against  her 
uncle,  and  sometimes  rehearsed  in  her  own  mind  exceeding-ly  fine 
speeches  which  she  would  have  liked  to  address  to  her  miserly  re- 
lative on  the  subject  of  his  cruelty  to  his  son,  his  avarice,  his 
egotism. 

Still  a  strain  of  pity  ran  through  har  mentations.  Was  life 
•worth  living,  spent  as  his  was?  How  far  haJ  his  nature  been 
warped  by  his  wife's  desertion? 

It  was  an  extraordinary  experience  to  Katharine,  this  packing  up 
of  her  belongings  to  quit' her  home.  She  took  as  little  as  sh3  could 
help,  to  keep  up  the  idea  that  she  was  entering  on  a  very  t  'mporar^ 
engagement ;  besides,  as  she  meant  to  adhere  rigidly  to  h'ar  ii^ht  of 
a  weekly  visit  to  her  mother,  she  could  always  get  what  she 
wanted. 

After  Mrs.  Liddell,  Katherine  found  it  hardest  to  part  with  the 
boys,  specially  little  Charlie,  whose  guardian  and  champion  sha  had 
constituted  herself.  Her  sister-in-law  had  rathn-  an  irritating" 
effect  upon  her,  of  which  she  was  a  little  ashain.'d,  and  whenever 
she  had  spoken  sharply,  which  she  did  occasionally,  she  was  ready 
to  atone  for  it  by  doing  some  extra  service,  so  that,  on  the  whole, 
the  pretty  little  widow  got  a  good  deal  more  out  of  her  sister  than 
out  of  heV  mother-in-law. 

But  meditations,  resolutions,  regrets,  and  preparations  notwith- 
standing, the  day  of  Katherine  s  departure  arrived.  It  was  a 
bright,  glowing  afternoon,  and  the  Thursd.ay  fixed  for  the  boating" 
party.  Mrs.  Liddell  junior  had  expended  "much  eloquence  to  no 
purpose,  as  she  well  knew  it  would  be,  in  trying  to  persuade  her 
sister-in-law  to  postpone  the  commencement  of  what  the  little  widow 
was  pleased  to  call  her  "penal  servitude,"  and  accomijany  her  to 
Twickenham. 

She  departed,  however,  without  her,  looking  her  very  best,  and 
littering  many  promises  to  come  and  see  Katie  soon,"  to  try  her 
powers  of  pleasing  on  that  dreadful  old  uncle  of  ours,  to  bring  the 
dear  boys,  and  see  if  they  would  not  cut  out  their  aunty,  etc. 

Mrs.  Liddell  and  her  daughter  were  most  thankful  to*  have  the  last 
few  hours  to^-ether,  and  yet  they  said  little,  and  that  chiefly  re- 
specting past  days  which  they  had  enjoyed  together— little  excur- 
sions on  the  Elbe  or  in  the  neighborhood  of  Florence  ;  a  couple  of 
months  once  passed  at  Siena,  which  was  a  mental  epoch  to  Katherine, 
who  was  then  about  fifteen;  promises  to  write;  and  tender  queries 
on  the  mother's  side  if  she  had  remembered  this  or  that. 

The  little  boys  clung  to  her,  Charlie  in  tears,  Cecil  very  solemn. 
Both  had  taken  up  the  sort  of  camera-obscura  image  of  their  elders' 
views  which  children  contrive  to  obtain  so  mysteriously  without 
hearing  anything  distinct  concerning  them,  and  both  considered 
"  Uncle  John  "  a  sort  of  modern  ogre,  only  restrained  by  the  police- 
man outside  from  making  a  daily  meal  of  the  nearest  infant  schoool, 
and  sure  to  g'obble  up  aunty  some  day.  Charlie  trembled  at  the 
thought ;  Cecil  pondei-ed  profoundly  how,  by  the  judicious  arrange- 
ment of  a  trap-door  in  the  middle  of  his  room,  he  might  cax-ry  out 
the  original  idea  of  Jack  the  Giant-Killer. 
"Pray  don't  think  of  coming"  with  me,  mother,"  said  Katherine, 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  53 

seeing  Mrs.  Liddell  take  out  her  bonnet.  "  I  could  not  bear  to  think 
of  your  lonely  drive  back.  Trust  me  to  myself.  I  am  not  going  to 
be'eitlier  frightened  or  ca.st  down,  and  I  will  write  to-morrow." 

"Then  I  must  let  you  go,  darling  !  On  Sunday  next,  Katie,  we 
shall  see  you." 

A  long,  fond  embrace,  and  Mrs.  Liddell  was  indeed  alone. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"shifting   scenes." 

Parting  is  often  worst  to  those  who  stay  behind.  Imagination 
paints  the  trials  and  di'I  i.  i'ies  of  the  one  who  has  put  out  to  sea 
as  far  wors3  than  tli  i  r>.;ality,  while  variety  aud  action  brace  the 
spirit  of  him  who  goes  forth. 

Katherine's  recepion,  however,  was  paralyzing  enough. 

Nothing  was  in  her  favor  save  the  mallow  brightness  of  the  fine 
warm  ev(niing,  though  from  its  south-east  asixict  the  parlor  at 
Legrave  Crescent  was  already  in  shadow.  There,  in  his  usual  seat 
beside  the  fire— for,  though  a  miser,  John  Liddell  had  a  fire  summer 
and  winter— .sat  the  old  man  watching  the  embers,  in  himsalf  a  liv- 
ing refrigerator. 

"  You  are  late  !"  was  his  greetin"-,  in  a  low,  cold  voice.  "I  have 
beon  expecting  you.  The  woman  Newton  found  for  me  has  been  up 
and  down  with  a  dozen  questions  I  cannot  answer.  I  must  be 
sa •.  ed  from  this  ;  I  will  not  be  disturbed.  Go  and  see  what  she 
wan^s ;  then,  if  there  is  more  food  to  be  cooked,  come  to  me  for 
money.  Mark  !  no  more  bills.  I  will  give  you  what  cash  you  want 
ea^  h  day,  so  long  as  you  do  not  as!v  too  much." 

"  Very  Avell.  Your  fire  wants  making  up,  uncle."  She  brought 
out  this  last  word  with  an  effort.  "I  suppose  I  am  to  call  you 
uncle:-"' 

'*  Call  me  what  you  choose,"  was  the  ungracious  reply. 

In  the  hall  she  found  the  new  servant,  whom  she  had  already  seen, 
waiting  her  orders.  She  was  a  stout,  good-humored  woman  of  a 
certain  age,  with  vast  experience,  gathered  in  many  .services,  and 
partly  tcMupted  to  her  present  engagement  by  the  hope  that  in  so 
small  a  household  her  labor  would  be  li^ht. 

"  Will  you  come  up,  miss,  and  see  if  your  room  is  as  you  like 
it  ?"  was  iier  first  address.  "  I'm  sure  I  am  glad  you  have  come  ! 
I've  been  groping  in  the  dark,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  since  I 
came  y(;sterday  ;  and  Mr.  Liddell,  he's  not  to  be  spoke  to.  Believe 
me,  miss,  if  itVasn't  that  I  promised  your  mar,  and  saw  you  was  a 
nice  youii  .  !,i  ly  yourself,  wild  horses  wouldn't  keep  me  "in  such  a 
lonesome  ;.arr;ick  of  a  place  !" 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  desert  us,  Mrs.  Knapp,"  returned  Katherine, 
cheerfully ."^  "  If  you  and  I  do  our  best,  I  hope  the  place  will  not  be 
so  bad." 

"Well,  it  didn't  ought  to,"  returned  Mrs.  Knapp.  "  There's  lots 
of  good  furniture  er\'erywhere  but  in  the  kitchen,  and  that's  just  for 
ftU  the  world  like  a  marine  store !" 


64  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  Is  it  ?"  exclaimed  Katherine,  greatly  puzzled  by  the  metaphor. 
"At  all  events  you  have  mad-i  my  room  nice  and  tidv."  This  con- 
versation, commenced  on  the  staircase,  was  continued  in  Katherine'g 
apartment. 

"It  ain't  bad,  miss  ;  there's  plenty  of  room  for  your  clothes  in 
that  big  wardrobe,  and  there's  a  chest  of  drawers  ;  but  I/)rd,  'm, 
they  smell  that  musty,  I've  stood  them  open  all  last  nig-ht  and  this 
morning,  but  they  ain't  much  the  better.  I  didn't  like  to  ask  for 
the  key  of  the  bookcase,  but  I  can  see  through  the  glass  the  books 
are  nist  coated  with  dust,"  said  Mrs.  Knapp. 

"We  must  mana^'e  all  that  by-and-by,"  said  Katherine. 
"Have  you  anything  in  the  house?  1  suppose  my  uncle  will  want 
some  dinner." 

"I  gave  him  a  filleted  sole  with  white  sauce,  and  a  custard  pud- 
ding, at  two  o'clock,  and  he  said  he  wanted  nothing  more.  I  had 
no  end  of  trouble  in  getting  half  a  crown  out  of  him,  and  he  had 
the  change.  If  the  gentleman  as  I  saw  with  your  mar,  miss,  hadn't 
given  me  five  shillings,  I  don't  know  where  I  should  be." 

"  I  will  ask  my  uncle  what  he  would  like  for  dinner  or  supper,  and 
come  to  you  in  tlie  kitchen  afterwai'd." 

Such  was  Katherine's  inauguration. 

She  soon  found  ample  occupation.  Not  a  day  passed  without  a 
battle  over  pennies  and  half-pennies.  Liddell  gave  her  each  morn- 
ing a  small  sum  wherewith  to  goto  market:  he  expected  her  to 
return  straight  to  him  and  account  ri<^idly  for  every  farthing  she 
had  laid  out,  to  enter  all  in  a  book  which  he  kept,  and  to  ^ive  him 
the  exact  change.  These  early  expeditions  into  the  fre.'^h  air  among 
the  busy,  friendly  shopkeepers  soon  came  to  be  the  best  bit  of  Kath- 
erine's day,  and  most  useful  in  keeping  up  the  healthy  tone  of  her 
mind.  Then  came  a  spell  of  reaclin"-  from  the  Times  and  other 
papers.  Every  word  connected  with  tne  funds  and  money  matters 
generally,  even  such  morsels  of  politics  as  effected  the  pulse  of 
finance,  was  eagerly  listened  to  ;  of  other  topics  Mr.  Liddell  did  not 
care  to  hear.  A  few  letters  to  solicitor  or  stock-broker,  some  entries 
in  a  general  account-book,  and  the  forenoon  was  gone.  Friends, 
interests,  regard  for  life  in  any  of  its  various  a.spects,  all  were  non- 
existent for  Liddell.  Money  was  his  only  thought,  his  sole  aspira- 
tion—to accumulate,  for  no  object.  This  miserliness  had  grown 
upon  him  since  he  had  lost  both  wife  and  son.  Fortunately  for 
Katherine,  his  ideas  of  expenditure  had  been  fixed  by  the  compara- 
tively liberal  standard  of  his  late  cook.  When,  therefore,  he 
founfl  he  had  greater  comfort  at  slightly  less  cost  he  was 
satisfied. 

liiu  liis  satisfaction  did  not  prompt  him  to  express  it.  His  nearest 
approach  to  approval  was  not  finding  fault 

In  vain  Katherine  endeavored  to  interest  him  in  some  of  the  sub- 
jects treated  of  in  the  papers.  He  was  deaf  to  every  topic  that  did  not 
beir  on  his  self-interest. 

*'  There  is  a  curious  account  here  of  the  state  of  labor  in  Manches- 
ter and  Birmingham  ;  shall  I  read  it  to  you  ?"  asked  Katherine,  one 
morning,  after  she  had  toiled  through  the  share  list  and  city  article. 
She  bad  been  about  a  fortnig^ht  installed  in  her  uncle's  boxise. 


A  CBe@KED  PATH.  55 

"No  !"  he  returned  ;  "what  is  labor  to  me?  "We  have  each  our 
own  work  to  do." 

"But  is  there  nothing-  else  you  would  care  to  hear,  uncle?"  She 
had  grov/n  more  accustomed  to  him,  and  he  to  her  ;  in  spite  of  her- 
self, she  was  anxious  to  cheer  his  dull  days— to  awaken  something- 
of  human  feeling-  in  the  old  automaton. 

"Nothing!  Why  should  I  care  for  what  does  not  concern  me? 
You  only  care  for  what  touches  yourself  ;  but  because  you  are 
young,  and  your  blood  runs  quick,  many  thing-s  touch  you." 

"  r)id  you  ever  care  for  anything-  except— except— "'  Katherine 
pulled  herself  up.    The  words  "your  money  "  were  on  her  lips. 

"I  cannot  rememljer,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  look  back.  ]  suppose, 
now,  you  would  like  to  be  driving-  about  in  a  fine  carria^-e,  with  a 
bonnet  and  feathers  on  your  head.  I  suppose  you  are  wishing-  me 
dead,  and  yourself  free  to  run  away  from  your  daily  tasks  in  this 
Quiet  house,  to  listen  to  the  lying-  tong-ue  of  some  soft  spoken  scoun- 
art-l,  as  foolish  women  will  ;"but  the  long-er  I  live  the  better  for  ./on, 
till  your  mother's  debt  is  paid,  or  my  executors  willg'ive  her  a  short 
shrift  and  scant  time." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  die,  Uncle  Liddell,"  said  Katherine,  with 
simple  sincerity,  "but  I  wish  there  was  anything-  I  co^..' 1  do  to  in- 
terest you  or  amuse  you.  I  am  sorry  to  "see  you  so  dull.  Why, 
you  are  obliged  to  sleep  all  the  afternoon  !" 

"Amuse  me?"  he  returned,  with  infinite  scorn.  ''You  need  not 
trouble  yourself.  I  have  thoug-hts  which  occupy  me  of  which  you 
have  no  id?a,  and  then  I  pass  from  thoug-hts  to  dreams— g-rand 
dreams  !"— ha  paused  for  a  moment.  "  Where  is  that  pile  of  papers 
that  lay  on  the  chair  there?"  he  resumed,  sharply. 

"I  have  taken  them  away  upstairs  ;  when  I  have  collected  some 
more  I  am  going-  to  sell  them.  My  mother  always  sells  her  waste 
pap  'r— one  may  as  well  have  a  few  pence  for  them." 

"Did  you  mother  say  so?"  with  some  animation — then  another 
pause.     "  Are  you  going-  to  see  her  on  Sunday?" 

"Not  next  Sunday,"  returned  Katherine,  quite  pleased  to  draw 
him  into  conversation.  "You  know  we  must  let  Mrs.  Knapp  go 
out  eveiy  alternate  Sunday,  and  you  cannot  be  left  alone." 

"  \Vhy  not  ?  Am  I  an  imbecile?  Am  I  dying  ?  I  can  tell  you  I 
have  years  of  life  before  me  yet." 

"I "dare say  ;  still,  i  is  my  duty  to  stay  here  in  case  jrou  want 
anything.  But  I  shall  go  home  on  Saturday  afternoon  instead,  if 
you  have  no  objection." 

"You  would  not  heed  ray  objections  if  I  had  any.  You  are  self- 
willed,  you  are  resolute.  I  see  things  when  I  care  to  look.  There, 
I  am  very  tired  !  You  will  find  some  newspapers  in  my  room  ;  you 
can  add  them  to  the  others.  How  soon  will  dinner  be  ready?" 
Katherine  felt  herself  dismissed. 

The  afternoons  were  much  at  her  own  disposal  ;  and  as  she  found 
a  number  of  old  books,  some  of  which  greatly  interested  her,  she 
managed  to  accomp'ish  a  good  deal  of  reading,  and  even  did  a  little 
dreaming.  Still,  thouo-h  time  seemed  to  go  so  slowly,  the  weeks, 
on  looking  back,  had  flown  fast. 

The  monotony  was  terrible  ;  but  a  break  was  at  hand  which  was 
Bot  quite  unexpected. 


56  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

The  day  foUo^^-ing  the  above  conversation,  Katherine  had  retired 
as  usual  after  dinner  to  write  to  a  German  friend  with  whom  she 
kept  up  a  desultory  correspondence  ;  the  daj'  was  warm,  and  her 
door  being  open,  the  unwonted  sound  of  thy  "front  door-bell  startled 
her. 

"Who  could  it  possibly  be?"  asked  Katherine  of  herself.  The 
next  minute  a  familiar  voice  struck  her  ear,  and  she  quickly  de- 
scended to  the  front  parlor. 

There  an  appalling  sight  met  her  eyes.  In  the  centre  of  the  room, 
her  back  to  the  door,  stood  Mrs.  Fred"  Li  Idell,  a  little  boy  in  either 
hand— all  three  most  carefully  attired  in  their  best  garments,  and 
making  quite  a  pretty  group. 

Facing  them,  Mr.  Liddell  sat  upright  in  his  chair,  his  lean,  claw- 
like hands  grasping  the  arms,  his  eyes  full  of  fierce  astonishment. 

"You  see,  my  dear  sir,  as  you  have  never  invited  me,  I  have 
ventured  to  come  unasked  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  to  intro- 
duce my  dear  boys  to  you ;  for  it  is  possible  you  have  sent  me  a 
message  by  Katherine  which  she  has  forgotten  to  deliver  ;  so  I 
thought—"  Thus  far  the  pretty  little  widow  had  proceeded  when 
the  ciiildren,  catching  sight  of  their  auntie,  sprang  upon  her  with  a 
cry  of  delight. 

"  Who— who  is  this?"  asked  Mr.  Liddell,  compressing  his  thin 
lips  and  hissing  out  the  words. 

.  "My  brother's  widow,  Mrs.  Fred  Liddell,"  returned  Katherine, 
who  was  kissing  and  fondling  her  nephews. 

"  Did  you  invite  her  to  come  here  ?" 

"  No,  uncle." 

"Then  explain  to  her  that  I  do  not  receive  visitors,  especially  re- 
lations, who  have  no  claims  upon  me,  and— and  I  particularly  object 
to  children." 

"  I  shall  take  my  sister-in-law  to  my  room  for  a  little  rest,"  re- 
turned Katherine,  wounded  by  his  manner,  though  greatly  vexed 
with  Ada  for  coming. 

"Ay,  do,  anywhere  you  like." 

But  Mrs.  Fred  made  a  gallant  attempt  to  stand  her  ground. 

"My  dear  sir,  you  must  not  be  so  unkind  as  to  turn  me  out,  when 
I  have  taken  the  trouble  to  come  all  this  way  on  purpose  to  make 
your  acquaintance.  Let  Katherine  take  away  the  children  by  all 
means— some  people  are  worried  with  children— but  let  nie  stay  and 
have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

Mr.  Liddell's  only  reply  was  to  rise  up.  Gaunt,  bent,  his  gray 
locks  quivering  with  annoyance,  and  leaning  on  his  stick,  he  slj\vly 
walked  to  the  door,  his  eyes  fixed  Avith  a  cold  glare  on  the  intruder. 
At  the  door  he  turned,  and  addr.'ssing  Katherine,  said,  "Let  me 
know  when  she  is  gone ;"  then  he  disapj^ared  into  the  hall. 

Little  Charlie  burst  into  tears.  Cecil  cried  out,  "  You  are  a  nasty, 
cross  old  man";  while  Mrs.  Fred  grew  very  red,  and  exclaimed:  "I 
never  saw  such  a  bear  in  all  my  life !  Why,  a  crossing-sweeper 
would  have  better  manners  !  I  am  astonished  at  you,  Katie.  How 
can  you  live  with  such  a  creature  ?  But  some  people  would  do  any- 
thing for  money." 

"I  am  dreadfully  sorry,"  said  Katherine;  "do  come  up  to  my 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  "^     57 

room.    If  you  had  only  told  me  you  were  coming  I  should  have 
advised  you  ag'ainst  it.    You  must  rest  a  while  in  my  room." 

"  I  really  do  not  think  I  will  sit  down  in  this  house  after  the  wav 
in  which  I  have  been  treated,"  said  the  irate  widow,  while  she  fol- 
lowed her  sister-in-law  upstairs. 

"  Oh  yes,  do,  mammy  ;  I  want  to  see  the  house,"  implored  Cecil. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  what  a  dreadful  man  he  is,  Kathei-ine, 
and  I  should  not  have  put  m ysalf  in  the  way  of  being-  insulted  ?" 

"I  think  I  told  you  enoug-h  to  keep  you  away,  Ada.  What  put  it 
into  your  head  to  come  ?" 

"I  scarcely  know.  I  always  intended  it,  and  Colonel  Ormonde 
said  it  was  my  duty  to  let  hini,  Mr.  Liddell,  see  the  boys.  I  really 
did  not  Avant  "to  come." 

''I  wish  ColonpV  Ormonde  would  mind  his  own  affairs,"  cried 
Katherine.     "  I  ft  #.y  he  only  talks  for  talking-'s  sake." 

"That  is  all  you  know,"  indig-nantly  ;  "he  is  a  very  clever  man 
of  the  world,  and  I  am  fortunate  in  having*  such  a  friend  to  interest 
himself  in  me." 

' '  Oh,  well,  perhaps  so.  At  all  events,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  the 
boys,  and— you  too,  Ada.  Charlie  is  very  pale.  Come  here, 
Charlie." 

"  Oh,  auntie,  is  this  your  own,  own  room?  Does  the  cross  old  man 
ever  come  here?  Are  all  those  books  yours— and  the  funny  little  table 
with  the  crooked  legs?  Who  is  the  man  in  a  wig?"  cried  Cecil. 
"  Mightn't  we  stay  with  you  ?  we  would  be  so  quiet?  Mother  says 
we  are  ilr^ffulhi  troublesome  since  you  went  away.  We  could  both 
sleep  with  you  in  that  great  big  bed !  The  cross  old  gentleman 
would  never  know.  It  would  be  such  fun  !  Do,  do,  let  us  stay, 
auntie ! " 

"  But  I  am  afraid  of  the  old  gentleman,"  whispered  the  youuger 
boy.  "Does  he  ever  hurt  you,  auntie  dear?  I  wish  you  would 
come  home." 

"  Charlie  is  such  a  coward,"  said  Cecil,  with  contempt. 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  childi-en,"  exclaimed  their  mother,  per- 
emptorily. "  I  should  die  of  fright  if  I  thought  you  were  left  behind 
with  that  ogre.  /  wouldn't  sacrifice  my  children  for  the  sake  of 
filthy  lucre." 

"Do  not  talk  nonsense,  Ada?"  said  Katherine,  impatiently.  "I 
am  infinitely  distressed  that  my  uncle  should  have  behaved  so  rudely, 
but  he  is  really  eccentric,  andif  you  had  consulted—" 

"  He  is  the  boys'  uncle  as  well  as  yours,  '  interrupted  Ada,  in- 
dign^tly.  "  Why  .should  they  not  come  and  see  him  ?  How  was 
I  to  suppose  he  was  such  an  unnatural  monstiir  ?" 

"  I  always  told  you  he  was  very  peculiar." 

"  Peculiar  !  that  is  a  delicate  way  of  putting  it.  If  I  were  you  I 
should  be  ashamed  of  wastinp-  my  time  and  my  youth  acting  servant 
to  an  old  miser  who  vv'iil  not  leave  you  a  sou  I" 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  he  will,"  returned  Katherine,  quietly.  "  Still, 
I  am  not  the  leasi,  ashamed  of  what  I  am  doing  ;  I  am  quite  satisfied 
with  my  own  motives." 

"  Oh,  you  are  always  satisfied  with  yourself,  I  know,"  was  the 
angry  ans\ver,  "  Bui  " — with  a  slight  change  of  tone — "  lam  sorry 
to  see  you  look  so  pale  and  ill,  though  you  deserve  it." 


68  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Never  mind,  Ada.  Take  off  your  bonnet  and  sit  down.  I  will 
get  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"^Tea  !  no,  certainly  not !  Do  you  think  me  so  mean  as  to  tastd 
a  mouthful  of  food  in  this  house  after  being  ordered  out  of  it  ?" 

*'0h,  I  am  so  hungry  !"  cried  Cecil,  in  mournful  tones. 

"  You  are  a  little  cormorant.  Grannie  will  give  you  nice  tea  when 
we  get  home.    Put  on  your  gloves,  children,  1  shall  go  at  once." 

"Do  come  back  with  us,  auntie,"  implored  the  boys.  " Grannie 
wants  you  ever  so  much." 

"  Not  more  than  I  want  her,"  returned  Katherine.  "How  is  she, 
Ada  ?" 

"Oh,  very  well ;  just  the  same  as  usual.  People  who  are  not 
sensitive  have  a  great  deal  to  be  thankful  for.  /  feel  quite  upset  by 
this  encounter  with  your  amiable  relative,  so  I  will  say  good-by. 

"  Oh,  wait  for  me  ;  I  will  come  with  you.  Let  me  put  on  my  hat 
and  tell  Mr.  Liddell  I  am  going  out." 

"Of  course  you  must  ask  the  master's  leave  !" 

"Exactly,"  returned  Katherine,  good-humoredly.  And  she  put 
on  her  hat  and  gloves. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  guidance,  for  I  hardly  know  my 
way  back  to  where  trie  omnibus  starts.  Such  a  horrible  low  part  of 
the"  town  for  a  man  of  fortune  to  live  in  !  I  wonder  what  Colonel 
Ormonde  would  say  to  it  ?" 

"1  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  returned  Kate,  laughing.  "Now 
come  down-stairs.  If  you  go  on  I  will  speak  to  my  uncle,  and 
follow  you." 

"I  a"m  sorry  you  have  been  annoved,"  said  Katherine,  when, 
having  tapped  at  the  door,  Mr  Liddell  desired  her  to  "  come  in." 
He  was  standing  at  an  old-fashioned  bureau,  the  front  of  which  let 
down  to  form  a  writing-desk  and  enclosed  a  number  of  various-sized 
drawers.  He  had  taken  out  several  packets  of  paper  neatly  tied 
with  red  tape  and  seemed  to  be  rearranging  them. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  my  sister-in-law  back  to  the  omnibus  ;  you 
may  be  sure  sTie  will  never  intrude  again." 

''She  shall  not,"  he  replied,  turning  to  face  her.  Katherine 
thought  how  ghastly  pale  and  pinclied  he  looked.  "  I  see  the  sort 
of  creature  she  is— a  doll  that  would  sell  her  saAvdust  soul  for  finery 
and  glitter  ;  ay,  and  the  lives  of  all  who  belong  to  her  for  an 
hour  of  pleasure." 

Katherine  was  shocked  at  his  fierce,  uncalled-for  bitterness. 

"  She  has  lived  with  us  for  more  than  a  vear  and  a  half,  and  we 
have  found  her  very  pleasant  and  kind.  "Her  children  are  dear, 
sweet  things.     You  should  not  judge  her  so  harshly." 

"You  are  a  greater  fool  than  I  took  vou  for,"  cried  Mr.  Liddell. 
"Go  take  them  away,  and  mind  th:iy  do  not  come  back." 

Katherine  hastened  a  t(!r  her  visitors  and  led  them  by  a  more 
direct  route  than  they  had  traversed  in  coming.  It  took  them  past 
a  cake  shop,  where  she  sp;int  one  of  her  few  sixpsnces  in  appeasing- 
her  nephews'  apixitite,  which,  at  least,  with  Cecil,  grew  with  what  it 
fed  upon,  in  the  matter  of  cakes. 

The  children,  each  holding  one  of  her  hands,  chattered  away, 
telling  many  particulars  of  grannie  and  Jane,  and  the  cat,  to  say 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  59 

nothing'  of  a  most  interestino^  g-ardener  who  came  to  cut  the  grass. 
To  all  of  which  Katherine  lent  a  willing-  ear.  How  ardently  she 
loiig-ed  to  be  at  home  with  the  dear  mother  ag-ain  !  She  had  never 
done  half  enough  for  her.  Ah,  if  they  only  could  be  tog-ether  ag-ain 
in  Florence  or  Dresden  as  they  used  to  be ! 

Mrs.  Fred  Liddell  kept  almost  complete  silence— a  very  unusual 
case  with  her— and  only  as  she  paused  before  following^  her  little 
boys  into  the  omnibus  did  she  give  any  clew  to  the  current  of  her 
thoug-hts.  "  Should  Colonel  Ormonde  come  on  Saturday  when  you 
are  with  us— which  is  not  likely— do  not  say  anvthing  about  that 
horrid  old  man's  rudeness  ;  one  does  not  like  to"^  confess  to  beinff 
turned  out. '' 

**  Certainly  not.    I  shall  say  nothing-,  you  may  be  sure." 

"Good-by,  then.  I  shall  tell  your  mother  you  are  looking 
wretrhedhf.''^ 

"  Pray  do  not,"  cried  Katherine,  but  the  conductor's  loud  stamping- 
on  his  perch  to  start  the  driver  drowned  her  voice. 

It  was  a  fine  evening-,  fresh,  too,  with  a  slig-ht  crispness,  and 
Katherine  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  a  walk  in  Reg-ent'sPark. 
She  felt  her  spirits,  which  had  been  g-reatly  depressed,  somewhat 
revived  by  the  free  air,  the  sig-ht  of  grass  and  trees.  Still  she  could 
not  answer  the  question  which  often  tormented  her,  "  It  my  mother 
cannot  sell  her  book,  how  will  it  all  end— must  I  remain  as  a  hostage 
forever  T    It  was  a  gloomy  outlook. 

She  did  not  allow  herself  to  stray  far ;  crossing  the  foot-brid"-e 
over  the  Regent's  Canal,  she  turned  down  a  street  which  led  by°a 
circuit  toward  her  abode.  It  skirted  Primrose  Hill  for  a  few  yards, 
and  as  she  passed  one  of  the  gates  admitting  to  the  path  wliich 
crosses  it,  a  gentleman  came  out,  and  after  an  instant's  hesitation 
raised  his  hat.  Katherine  recognized  the  man  who  had  rescued 
Cecil  at  Hyde  Park  Corner.  She  smiled  and  bowed,  frankly  pleased 
to  meet  him  again  ;  it  was  so  refreshing  to  see  a  bright,  kindly  face 
— a  face,  tpo,  that  looked  glad  to  see  her. 

"  May  I  venture  to  inquire  for  my  little  friend  ?"  said  the 
gentleman,  respectfully.  "I  trust  he  was  not  the  worse  for  his 
adventure  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  thanks  to  your  promptness,"  said  Katherine,  pausing. 
"  I  have  onlv  just  parted  with  him  and  his  mother.  She  would  ha/e 
been  very  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  thank  you." 

"  So  slight  a  service  scarcelj^  needs  your  thanks,"  he  said,  in  a  soft, 
agreeable  voice,  as  he  turned  and  walked  beside  her. 

Ka*^herine  made  no  objection  ;  she  knew  he  was  an  acquaintance 
of  Colonel  Ormonde,  and  it  was  too  pleasant  a  chance  of  speaking  to 
a  civilized  human  being  to  be  lost.  Her  new  acquaintance  was 
good-looking  without  being  handsome,  with  a  peculiarly  happy  ex- 
pression, and  honest,  kindly  light  brown  eves.  He  was  about  middle 
height,  but  well  set  up,  and  carried  himself  like  a  soldier. 

"Then  your  little  charge  does  not  live  with  you?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  now.  I  am  staying  with  my  uncle.  Cecil  lives  with  his 
mother  and  mine  at  Bayswater." 

"Indeed!  I  think  mv  old  friend,  Colonel  Ormonde,  knows  the 
yoTing  gentleman's  mother." 


60  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"He  does." 

"Then,  may  I  introduce  myself  to  you?  My  name  is  Payne — 
Gilbert  Pavue." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  returned  Katherine,  with  a  vag-ue  idea  that  she 
ought  not  perhaps  to  walk  with  him,  yet  by  no  means  inclined  to 
dismiss  a  pleasant  companion. 

"I  fancy  your  young  nephew  is  a  somewhat  rebellious  sub- 
ject." 

"  He  is  sometimes  very  troublesome,  but  you  cannot  help  liking 
him." 

"Exactly — a  fine  boy.  What  bewildering  little  animals  children 
are  !  They  ought  to  teach  us  humility,  they  understand  us  so  much 
better  than  we  understand  them." 

"  I  believe  they  do,  but  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  Have  you 
little  brothers  and  sisters  who  have  taught  you  this  i*" 

"  No.  I  am  the  youngest  of  my  family  ;'but  I  am  interested  in  a 
refuge  for  street  children,  and  I  learn  much  there." 

"That  is  very  good  of  you,"  said  Katherine,  looking  earnestly  at 
tiim.     "  Where  is  it— near  this?" 

"  No  ;  a  long  way  off.  There  are  plenty  of  such  places  in  every 
direction.  I  have  just  come  from  a  home  for  poor  old  women,  child- 
less widows,  sickly  spinsters,  who  cannot  work,  and  have  no  one  to 
work  for  thera.  If  you  have  any  spare  time,  it  would  be  a  great 
kindness  to  go  and  read  to  them  now  and  then.  The  lees  of  such 
lives  are  often  sad  and  tasteless." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  help  in  any  way,"  said  Katherine,  coloring, 
"but  just  now  I  belong  (temporarily)  to  my  uncle,  who  is  old,  and 
requires  a  good  deal  of  reading — and  care." 

"  Ah,  I  see  your  work  is  cut  out  for  you  ;  that,  of  course,  is  your 
first  duty." 

The  conversation  then  flowed  on  easily  about  street  arabs 
and  the  various  missions  for  rescuing^hem,  about  soldiers'  homes, 
and  other  kindred  topics.  Katherine  was  much  interested,  and  taken 
out  of  herself  ;  she  was  quite  sorry  when  on  approaching  Legrave 
Crescent  she  felt  obliged  to  pause,  with  the  intention  of  dismissing 
him.    He  understood.    "  Do  you  live  near  this/"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  quite  near." 

"May  i  bring  you  some  papars  giving  you  an  account  of  my  poor 
old  women  ?" 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  have  them,"  said  Katharine.  "  But  my 
uncle  is  rather  peculiar.  He  does  not  like  to  be  disturbed  ;  he  does 
not  like  visitors  ;  he  was  vexed  because  my  sister-in-law  and  the 
children  came  to  day." 

"  I  understand,  and  will  not  intrude.  But  should  you  be  able  and 
willing  to  h -Ip  these  undertakings,  Colonel  Ormonde  will  always 
know  my  address.  He  honors  me  still  with  his  friendship,  though 
he  thinks  me  a  moon-struck  idiot." 

"Because  you  are  good  Ths  folly  is  his,"  said  Katherine, 
warmly.  Then  she  bowed,  Mr.  Payne  lilted  his  hat  again,  and  they 
partedj  not  to  meet  for  many  a  day. 

When  Mrs.  Knapp  opened  the  door  she  looked  rather  grave,  but 
Katherine's  mind  was  so  full  of  h^r  encounter  with  Gilbert  Payne 


A  CROOKEB  PATH.  61 

that  she  did  not  notice  it,  seeing"  which,  Mrs.  Knapp  said,  "  I'm  glad 
you  have  come  in,  miss." 

"  Whv  ?"  with  immediate  apprehension.     "Is  my  uncle  ill  ?" 

"  He  is  not  rig-ht,  miss.  I  took  him  up  his  cup  of  tea  and  slice  of 
dry  toast  about  tive,  and  he  was  lying  back,  as  he  often  does,  asleep, 
as  I  thought,  in  the  chair.  I  sa\"s,  'Here's  your  tea,  sir,'  but  he 
made  no  answer,  and  I  spoke  again  twice  without  making  him  hoar  ; 
then  I  touched  his  hand  ;  it  was  stone  cold  ;  so  I  got  water  and 
dabbed  his  brow,  when  he  sat  up  all  of  a  sudden,  and  swore  at  me 
for  making  him  cold  and  damp  with  my — I  don't  like  to  say  the 
word— rags.  Then  he  shivered  and  shook  like  an  aspen  ;  but  I  made 
up  che  lire  and  popped-  a  spoonful  of  brandy  in  his  tea— he  never 
noticed.  But  he  kept  asking  lor  you,  miss.  I  think  he  doesn't  know 
he  was  bad. " 

Katherino  hastened  to  her  uncle,  greatly  distressed  at  having  been 
absent  at  the  moment  of  need.  In  her  eagerness  she  committed  the 
mistake  of  asking  how  he  felt  now,  and  received  a  tart  reply.  There 
was  nothing  the  matter  with  him,  nothing  unusual— only  his  old 
complaint,  increasing  years  and  infirmity  :  still  he  was  not  to  be 
treated  like  a  helpless  baby. 

Katherine  felt  ner  error,  and  turned  the  sub"ect ;  then,  returning 
to  it,  begged  him  to  see  a  doctor  This  he  refused  sternly  Finally 
she  had  recourse  to  an  article  on  the  revenue  in  the  papar,  whicn 
soothed  him,  and  she  saw  the  old  man  totter  cff  to  bed  with  extreme 
uneasiness,  yet  not  daring  even  to  suggest  a  night  light,  so  irritable 
did  he  seem. 

Before  she  slept  she  wrote  a  brief  account  of  what  had  occurred  to 
Mr.  Newton,  ana  implored  him  to  come  and  remonstrate  with  his 
client. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

THE  BEGINNING  OF   THE  END. 

Katherine  Liddell  had  never  spent  so  uneasy  a  night,  save  when 
her  mother  had  been  ill.  Her  nerves  were  on  the  stretch,  h;n-  ears 
I)ainfully  watchful  for  the  smallest  sound.  What  if  the  desolate  old 
man  should  pass  away,  alone  and  unaided,  in  the  darkness  of  night  ! 
The  sense  of  responsibility  was  almost  too  much  for  her.  If  she 
could  have  her  mother  ather  side  she  would  fear  nothing.  She  was 
up  early,  thankful  to  see  daylight,  and  eager  for  Mrs.  Knapp's  rop  >rt 
of  her  uncle. 

Generally  the  old  man  was  afoot  betimes,  and  despised  th  ;  lirury 
of  warm  water.  This  morning  Mrs.  Knapp  had  to  knock  at  his  door, 
as  he  was  not  moving,  and  after  a  brief  interview  returned  to  inform 
Katherine  that  Mr.  Liddell  grumbled  at  her  for  being  up  too  early, 
and  on  hearing  that  it  was  half  pa,st  eight,  said  she  had  better  bring 
him  a  cup  of  tea. 

Katherine  carried  it  to  him  herself.  He  took  very  little  notice  of 
her,  but  said  he  would  get  up  presently  and  hear  the  papers  read. 


62  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

When  she  came  back  with  some  jelly,  for  which  she  had  sent  to  the 
nearest  confectioner,  he  ate  it  without  comment,  and  told  her  she 
mig'ht  go. 

It  was  a  miserable  morning',  but  about  noon,  to  her  great  delight, 
she  saw  Mr.  Newton  opening-  the  garden  gate.  She  new  to  admit 
him. 

"  I  am  so  thankful  vou  have  come ! " 

"How  is  Mr.    Lid  sell r"' 

"  He  seems  quite  himself  this  morning,  except  that  he  is  inclined 
to  stay  in  bed." 

"He  must  see  a  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Newton,  speaking  in  a  low 
voice  and  turning  into  the  parlor.  "  We  must  try  and  keep  him 
alive  and  in  his  senses  for  every  reason.  I  am  glad  he  is  still  in  bed; 
it  will  ^ive  me  an  excuse  for  urging  him  to  take  advice,  for  of 
course  1  shall  not  mention  your  note." 

"  No  pray  do  not.    He  evidently  does  not  like  to  be   thought  ill," 

"Pray  how  long  have  you  been  here— nearly  a  month  ?  Yes,  I 
thoughrso.  1  cannot  compliment  you  on  your  looks.  How  do  you 
think  you  have  been  g-etting  on  with  our  friend  ?" 

"Not  very  well,  I  fear,"  said  Katherine,  shaking  her  head.  " He 
rarely  speaks  to  me,  except  to  give  some  order  or  a.sk  some  neces- 
sary question.  Yet  he  does  not  speak  roughly  or  crossly,  as  he  does 
to  JVliS  Knapp  ;  and  something  I  cannot  detine  in  his  voice,  even  in 
his  cold  eyes,  tells  me  he  is  growing  used  to  my  presence,  and  that 
he  does  not  dislike  it." 

"Well,  I  should  think  not,  Miss  Liddell,"  said  the  precise  lawyer, 
politely.  "I  trust  time  may  be  given  to  him  to  recognize  the  claims 
of  kindred  and  of  merit.  Pray  ask  him  if  he  will  see  me,  and  in  the 
mean  time  please  send  a  note  to  Dr.  Brown—  a  very  respectable 
practitioner,  who  lives  not  far  ;  ask  him  to  come  at  once.  I  must 
persnade  Mr.  Liddell  to  see  him,  and  if  possible  while  I  am  present.  ' 

The.  old  man  showed  no  surprise  at  Mr.  Newton's  presence  ;  it  was 
almost  time  for  his  monthly  visit,  and  as  he  brought  a  small  sum  of 
m.oney  with  him,  the  result  of  some  minor  payments,  he  was  very 
welcome. 

Katherine,  immensely  relieved,  sat  trying  to  work  in  the  front 
parlor,  but  really  watcliing  for  the  doctor.  Would  her  uncle  see 
him?  and  if  not,"^ ought  she  still  to  undertake  the  responsibility  of 
such  a  diarge? 

At  last  he  arrived,  a  staid,  thoughtful- looking  man  ;  and  before 
h<;  had  time  to  do  more  than  exchange  a  few  words  with  her,  Mr, 
Newton  appeared  and  carried  him  oft  to  see  the  patient. 

They  seemed  a  long  time  gone  ;  and  when  they  riiturned  the  doc- 
tor wrote  a  prescription— a  very  simple  tonic,  he  said.  "  What 3' our 
uncle  needs.  Miss  Liddell,"  he  said,  "is  constant  nourishment  Ho 
is  exceedingly  weak  ;  the  action  of  the  heart  is  feeble,  the  whole 
system  starved.  You  must  get  him  to  take  all  the  food  you  can,  and 
5()me  good  Avine— Burgundy  if  possible.  He  had  better  get  up. 
There  is  really  no  organic  disea.se,  but  he  is  very  low.  He  ought  to 
have  some  onb  in  his  room  at  night.'' 
"  It  will  be  difficult  to  mana^-e  that,"  said  Mr.  Newton. 
"  I  shall  look  in  to-morrow  about  this  time,"  said  the  doctor,  and 
hurried  away. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  63 

"How  have  you  contrived  to  make  him  hear  reason?"  asked 
Katherine,  eagerly. 

"  I  took  thci  law"  into  my  own  hands,  for  one  thing;,  and  I  sug-g-est- 
ed  a  powerful  motive  for  living  on.  I  reminded  him  that  he  and 
another  old  gentleman  are  the  only  survivors  in  a  'Tontine,'  and 
that  he  must  try  to  outlive  him.  So  the  cost  of  doctor,  medicine, 
etc.,  etc.,  ought" to  be  considered  as  an  investment.  Do  not  fail  to 
get  him  all  possible  nourishment.    If  he  rebels,  send  for  me." 

"I  will  indeed.  lam  almost  afraid  to  stay  here  aIoi.e.  Might  I 
not  have  my  mother  with  me  ?" 

"  Do  not  think  of  it " — earnestly.  "  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  be- 
lieve you  are  decidedly  gaining  on  your  uncle  ;  but  theintrusion  of 
Mrs.  Frederic  Liddell  yesterday  was  very  unfortunate.  My  rather 
peculiar  client  is  impressed  with  the  idea  that  you  invited  her." 

"  Indeed  I  did  not !"  cried  Katherine. 

"I did  not  suppose  you  did,  but  her  appearance  seems  to  have 
given  Mr.  Liddell  a  shock."  Mr.  Newton  paused,  and  then  asked 
m  a  slow  tone,  as  if  thinking  hard,  "  What  was  your  sister-in-law's 
maiden  name?" 

"  Sandford,"  said  Katherine. 

"  Sandfordr*  That  is  rather  a  curious  coincidence.  The  late  Mrs. 
John  Liddell  was  a  Miss  Sandford." 

"  Is  she  dead,  then  ?" 

"Yes  ;  she  died  eight  or  nine  years  ago." 

"Could  they  have  been  related?" 

"  Possibly.     Some  likeness  seems  to  have  struck  your  uncle." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  Mr.  Newton  resumed.  ''I  trust 
you  do  not  find  your  stay  here  too  trying?  I  consider  it  very  im- 
portant that  you  should  persevere,  though  it  is  only  right  to  tell  you 
that  Mr.  Liddell  has  made  a  will— not  a  just  one,  in  iny  opinion— 
and  it  is  extremely  unlikely  he  will  ever  change  it." 

"  That  does  not  really  aftcct  me.  Of  course  I  should  be  very  glad 
if  he  choss  to  leave  anything  to  my  mother  or  myself,  hut  I  shall  do 
my  best  for  him  under  any  circumstances.  Besides,  I  have  a  sort 
of  desire  to  make  him  speak  to  me  and  like  me— perhaps  it  is  vanitv 
— quite  apart  from  a  sense  of  duty.    He  is  so  like  a  frozen  man  !" 

"Try,  try  by  all  means,  my  dear  young  lady." 

"Wnat  Tdo  not  like  is  the  liour  or  half-hour  after  market.  The 
wolMsh  greed  by  which  he  clutches  the  change  I  bring  back,  the 
glare  in  his  eyes,  the  tierce  eagerness  with  which  he  asks  the  price 
of  everything— he  is  not  human  at  such  times,  and  I  almost  fear 
him." 

"It  is  a  dreadful  picture,  but  perhaps  the  details  may  soften  in 
time." 

"How shall  I  get  money  for  all  he  wants?"  asked  Katherine, 
anxiously . 

"I  shall  impress  upon  Mr.  Liddell  the  necessity  of  his  case,  and 
even  make  out  that  the  good  things  he  requires  cost  more  than  they 
do.  I  will  beg  him  to  allow  me  to  supply  the  money  during  his  in- 
disposition and  enter  it  in  his  account.  Here,  I  will  give  you  five 
pounds  while  wo  are  alone." 

"Thank  you  so  much  !    You  see  I  d^re  not  get  into  debt.    I  will 


64)  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

keep  a  careful  account  of  all  expenditure,  and  ask  him— my  uncle, 
I  mean— not  to  g-ive  me  any  money,  then  there  will  be  no  con- 
fusion." 

"  Very  -well.  I  will  g-o  back  to  him  now.  He  will  be  almost  ready 
to  corao  in  hare.  Write  to  me  frequently,  I  shall  try  to  look  in  to- 
morrow for  a  few  minutes." 

Katheri  e  stirred  the  fire,  and  placed  a  threadbare  footstool  before 
Lhi  invalid's  easy-chair,  thanking'  Heaven  in  her  heart  for  sending 
her  .such  an  ally  as  the  friendly  lawyer. 

Then  Mr.  Liddell  appsared,  leaning  on  Newton's  arm,  and  not 
looking  much  worse  than  u.-^ual,  Katnerine  thoiight.  He  took  no 
notice  of  her  until  she  put  the  footstool  under  his  feet ;  then,  wonder- 
ful to  relate,  he  looked  down  into  her  grave,  kindly  face  and  smiled, 
not  bitterly  or  cynically,  but  as  if,  on  the  whole,  pleased  to  see  her. 
He  seemed  a  little  breathless,  yet  he  soon  began  to  speak  to  Newton 
as  if  in  continuation  of  their  previous  conversation—  "  And  is  Fergus- 
son  really  a  year  younger  than  I  am  ?" 

"Yes,  quite  a  year,  fshould  say,  and  he  takes  great  care  of  him- 
self. I  do  not  think  he  has  really  so  good  a  con.stitution  as  you  have, 
but  he  takes  ever^'thing  that  is  strengthening— good  wine,  turtle 
soup,  and  I  do  not  know  what." 

"Ah,  indeed  !"  returned  Mr.  Liddell,  thoughtfully. 
"I  have  been  explaining  to  Mr.  Liddell,"  said  the  lawyer,  turning 
to  Katherine,  "that  it  would  be  well  to  let  me  give  you  the  house- 
keeping money  for  the  present,  so  that  he  neexi  not  be"  troubled  about 
amthing  except  to  get  well ;  and  when  well,  my  dear  sir,  you  really 
must  go  out.    Fresh  air—" 

"Fresh  fiddle-sticks,"  interrupted  the  old  man  ;  "I  have  been  well 
for  years  without  going  out,  and  I'll  not  begin  now.  I'll  give  in  to 
everything  else  ;  only,  if  /  am  obliged  to  take  costly  food  as  a  medi- 
cine, I  expect  the  rest  of  the  household  to  live  as  carefully  as  ever." 
"  I  shall  do  my  best,  uncle,"  said  Katherine,  softly. 
After  a  little  more  conversation  the  lawyer  took  his  leave,  and 
then  Katherine  applied  herself  to  read  the  papers  which  had  been 
neglected. 

It  was  not  till  toward  evening  she  was  able  to  write  a  few  lines  to 
her  mother  describing  Mr.  Liddell's  illness,  and  begging  she  would 
come  to  see  her  on  Saturday,  as  she  (Katherine)  could  not  absent 
herself  while  her  uncle  was  so  unwell. 

After  this  things  Avent  on  much  as  usual,  only  Mr.  Liddell  never 
resumed  his  habits  of  early  rising;  he  was  a  shade  less  cold  too, 
though  at  times  terribly  irritable. 

He  took  the  food  prepared  for  him  obediently  enough,  but  with 
evident  want  of  appetite,  rarely  finishing  what  was  provided. 

Mr.  Newton  generally  called  every  week,  and  Katherine  wrote  to 
him  besides  ;  she  was  strict  in  insisting  on  the  audit  of  her  accounts, 
which  the  accurate  lawyer  sometimes  praised.  By  judicious  ac- 
counts of  Fergusson,  the  other  surviving  member  of  the  Tontine, 
he  managed  to  keep  his  client  in  tolerable  order.  Katherine,  though 
grateful  to  him  for  his  friendly  help,  little  knew  how  strenuously  he 
strove  to  lengthen  the  old  miser's  days,  hoping  he  would  make  some 
provision  iqr  his  niece,  while  be  dared  not  oner  any  suggestion  on 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  65 

the  subject,  lest  it  should  pi'oduce  an  effect  contrary  to  what  he  de- 
sired. 

Mrs.  Fred  Liddell  was  bitterly  disappointed  by  the  result  of  her 
visit  to  the  rich  uncle.  A  g-ood  deal,  indeed,  hung*  upon  it.  A 
wealthy  succession  was  certainly  a  thing-  to  be  devoutly  wished  for 
in  itself,  but  the  sharp  little  widow  felt  that  provision  for  her  boys 
and  a  dowry  for  herself  meant  marriag-e,  if  she  chose,  with  Colonel 
Ormonde. 

And  she  very  decidedly  did  wish  it.  Her  imagination,  which  was 
vivid  enough  of  its  kind,  was  captivated  by  the  Colonel's  imposing- 
"bow-wow"  manner,  the  idea  of  a  cotmtry  place— an  old  family 

f)lace  too— by  his  diamond  ring  and  florid  compliments,  his  self-satis- 
ied  fastidious! iciss  and  his  social  position.  Jn  short,  to  her  he  seemed 
a  fashionable  hero  ;  but  she  was  quite  sure  he  never  would  hamper 
himself  \\\i\\  two  little  portionless  boys.  Ada  Liddell  was  by  no 
means  unkind  to  her  children  ;  she  was  ready  to  pet  them  when  they 
met.  aud  give  them  what  did  not  cost  her  too  much  ;  but  she  considered, 
them  a  terrible  disadvantag-e,  and  herself  a  most  g-enerous  and  de- 
voted mother. 

The  day  after  she  had  been  so  ignominiously  expelled  from  John 
Liddell's  house  she  put  on  the  prettiest  thing-*^  she  possessed  in  the 
way  of  a  bonnet— a  contrivance  of  black  lace  and  violets— and  having- 
inspected  the  turn-out  of  the  children's  maid  in  her  best  go-to-meet- 
ing- attire,  also  the  putting  on  of  the  boys'  newest  sailor  suits,  the 
curling-  of  their  hair,  and  many  minordetails,  she  sallied  forth 
across  Kensington  Gardens  to  the  ride,  feeling-  tolerably  sure  that, 
in  consequence  of  a  hint  she  had  dropped  a  day  or  two  before,  when 
taking'  afternoon  tea  in  Mrs.  Burnett's  drawing--room.  Colonel  Or- 
monde would  probably  be  amongst  the  riders  on  his  powerful  chest- 
nut, ready  to  receive  her  rrport.  She  was  quite  sure  he  was  very 
much  smi.ien,  and  eager  to  kiiow  what  her  chani;es  with  old  Liddell 
might  be  ;  and  as  her  mother-in-laAv  had  a  bad  habit  of  presiding 
over  her  own  tea-table,  it  would  be  more  convenient  to  talk  with  her 
gay  Lothario  in  the  Park. 

Many  admiring  glances  were  cast  upon  the  pretty  little  woman  in 
becoming  half-mourning,  with  the  two  i^olden -haired,  sweet  looking 
children  and  their  trim  maid,  which  (  id  not  escape  their  object,  and 
put  her  into  excellent  spirits.  She  felt  she  had  gone  forth  conquer- 
ing and  to  conquer.  About  half-way  down  the  row  she  recognized  a 
well-known  figure  on  a  mighty  horse,  who  cantered  up  to  where  she 
stood,  followed  by  a  groom. 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Liddell  ;  I  thouo-ht  this  piece  of  fine  weather 
would  tempt  you  out,"  cried  Colonel  Ormonde,  dismounting  and 
throwing  his  rein  to  the  groom,  who  led  away  the  horse  as  if  in 
obedience  to  some  previoi;:-!y  given  command.  "  I  protest  you  are  a 
most  tantalizing  little  woman  !"  heex claimed,  v/hen  they  had  shaken 
hands  and  he  hadpatt*  d  the  children's  heads.  "  I  have  been  looking 
for  you  this  half-hour.     Where  did  you  hide  yourself  '?" 

"I  did  not  hide  myself.     I  am  dying  to  tell  you  about  my  uncle.'' 
"  Ah !  was  he  all  your  prophetic  soul  painted  him?" 
■     *'  He  was,  and  a  good  deal  more.    He  is  (juite  un  >"'gri'e,  and  uvw 


66  A  CROOKED  PAXa 

in  a  miserable  hovel.  How  Katharine  can  degrade  herself  by 
grovelling  there  with  him  for  the  sake  of  what  she  can  get  passes  my 
understandiiig." 

"  Deuced  plucky,  sensible  girl !  She  is  quite  right  to  stick  to  the 
old  boy.  Hope  she  will  get  his  cash.  Gad!  with  her  eyes  and  Ai« 
thousands,  she'd  rouse  up  society  !" 

"Well,  I  believe  she  intends  to  have  them  all.  She  was  quite 
vexed  at  my  going  over  to  see  the  ogre,  and  I  think  has  preiudiced 
him  against  my  poor  darling  boys,  for  as  soon  as  he  saw  tnem  he 
called  out  that  he  could  not  receive  any  one,  that  he  was  ill  and 
nervous.  But  I  smiled  my  very  best  smile,  and  said  I  had  come  to 
introduce  myself,  and  I  hoped  he  would  let  me  have  a  little  talk  with 
him.  The  poor  old  ogre  looked  at  me  rather  kindly  and  earnestly 
when  I  said  that,  and  I  really  do  think  he  would  have  listened  to  me, 
but  my  sister-in-law  would  inake  me  come  away,  as  if  the  sight  of 
me  was  enough  to  frighten  a  hors3  from  his  oats  ;  so  somehow  we  got 
hustled  upstairs,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it." 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Liddell,  you  ought  not  to  have  allowed  yourself  to  be 
outmanoeuvred,"  cried  the  Colonel,  who  greatly  enjoyed  irritating 
his  pretty  little  friend.  "Your  beUe-sosur  (as  she  really  is)  is  too 
many  for  you.  Don't  you  give  up  ;  try  again  when  the  adorable 
Katherine  is  out  of  the  way." 

"I  fully  intend  to  do  so,  I  assure  vou,"  cried  Mrs.  Frederic,  her 
eyes  sparkling,  her  heart  beating  with  vexation,  but  determined  to 
keep  up  the  illusion  of  ingratiating  herself  with  the  miserly  uncle. 
"Pray  remember  this  is  only  a  tirst  attempt." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  my  devout  wishes  for  vour  success.  How 
this  wretch(Mi  old  hunk  can  resist  such  eyes,  such  a  smile,  as  yours, 
is  beyond  my  comprehension.  If  such  a  niece  attacked  me,  I  should 
surrender  at  the  first  demaT.d." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would"— a  little  tartly.  "  I  think  you  have 
as  keen  a  regard  for  your  own  interest  as  most  men." 

"lam  sure  \'ou  would  despise  me  i*  I  had  not,  and  the  idea  of 
being  despised  by  you  is  intolerable." 

"  You  know  I  do  not  "—very  softly.  "  But  it  is  time  I  turned  and 
■went  toward  home." 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  Mrs.  Liddell !  or,  if  you  will  turn,  let  it  be 
round  Kensington  Gardens.  Do  you  know,  I  am  going  to  Scotlajid 
next  week,  to  Sir  Ralph's  moor ;  then  I  expect  a  party  to  meet 
Errington  at  Djy  own  place  early  in  September  ;  so  I  shall  not  have 
manv  chances  of  seeing  you  until  I  run  up  just  before  Christmas. 
Now  I  am  going  to  ask  a  great  favor  It's  so  hard  to  get  a  word 
with  you  except  under  the  Argus  eyes  of  that  mother  in -law  of 
yours." 

"  What  can  it  be?"  opening  her  eyas. 

"  Come  with  me  to  see  this  play' they  have  been  giving  at  the 
Adelphi.  I  have  never  had  a  spare  evening  to  see  it.  Well  leave 
early,  and  have  a  snug  little  supper  at  Verey's,  and  I'll  see  you 
home.'' 

"  It  would  be  delightful,  but  out  of  the  question,  I  am  afraid: 
Mrs.  Liddell  has  sucn  severe  ideas,  and  I  dare  not  offend  her." 

*'  Why  need  she  know  anything  about  it  ?     Say— oh,  anything— 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  67 

that  you  are  sroing-  with  the  Burnetts :  they  have  gone  to  the  Italian 
lakes,  but  I  don't  suppose  she  knows." 

The  temptation  was  g-reat,  but  the  little  widow  was  no  fool  in  some 
ways.  She  saw  her  way  to  make  something  of  an  impression  on  her 
worldly  admirer. 

"No^,  Colonel  Ormonde,"  she  sa^i,  shaking  her  head,  while  she 
permitted  the  "suspicious  moistul^."  to  gather  in  her  eyes.  "It 
would  indeed  be  a  treat  to  a  poor  liitle  reclu.se  like  me,  but  though 
there  is  not  a  bit  of  harm  in  it,  or  you  would  not  ask  me,  I  am  sure. 
I  must  not  offend  my  mother-in-law  ;  and  though  Heaven  knows  1 
am  not  straight-laced,  I  never  will  tell  stories  or  act  deceitfully  if  I 
can  help  it ;  that  is  my  only  strong  point,  which  has  to  make  up  for 
a  thousand  weak  ones." 

Colonel  Ormonde  looked  at  her  with  amazement ;  her  greatest 
charm  to  men  such  as  he  „was  her  doUiness,  and  this  was  a  new 
departure. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  his  most  insinuating  tones,  "I  thought  you 
might  have  granted  so  much  to  an  old  friend  and  faithful  admirer 
like  myself.    There  is  no  great  harm  in  my  little  plan." 

"Certainly  not,  but  you  see  I  must  hold  on  to  my  mother-in-law  : 
she  is  my  only  real  stay.  While  pleasant  and  iriendly  as  you  are, 
my  dear  Colonel " — with  a  pretty  little  to^s  of  her  head— "you  will 
go  0^'  shooting,  or  hunting,  or  Heaven  knows  what,  and  it  is  quite 
possll.le  I  may  never  see  your  face  ^tgain." 

"Oh,  by  George!  you  will  not  get  rid  of  me  so  easily,"  cried 
Ormonde,  a  good  dealtaken  back. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  vou  if  you  do  turn  up  a^-ain,"  said 
Mrs.  Liddell,  graciously.  "  So  as  this  will  probably  be  the  last 
time  I  shall  see  you  for  some  months,  pray  tell  me  some  amusing 
gossip." 

But  gossip  did  not  seem  to  come  readily  to  Colonel  Ormonde  ; 
nevertheless  they  made  a  tour  of  the  gai'dens  in  desultory  conversa- 
tion, till  Mrs.  Liddell  stopped  decidedly,  and  bade  him  adieu. 

"  At  last,"  said  the  cautious  ex-dragoon,  "you  will  write  and  tell 
me  hoAV  you  get  on  with  this  amiable  old  relative  of  yours." 

"  I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  report  progress,  if  you  care  to  write 
and  ask  me,  and  tell  me  your  whereabouts." 

"Then  I  suppose  it  is  to  be  good -by  :■*"  said  Ormonde,  almost  senti- 
mentally.   "  You  are  treating  me  devilisWy  ill." 

" I  do  not  see  that."  Here  the  boys  came  running  up,  at  a  signal 
from  their  mother. 

"  Well,  my  line  fellow,"  said  Ormonde,  laying  his  hand  on  Cecil's 
shoulder,  "  so  you  went  to  see  your  old  uncle.  Did  fee  try  to  eat 
you  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  he  is  a  nasty  cross  old  man.  He  wouldn't  speak  a  word 
to  mammy,  but  took  his'stick  and  hobbled  away." 

"Yes,  he  is  a  wicked  man,  and  I  cm  afraid  he  will  hurt  auntie," 
put  in  Charlie. 

Colonel  Ormonde  laughed  rather  more  than  the  mother  liked.  "  I 
think  vou  may  trust  '  auntie  '  to  take  care  of  herself.— So  you  forced 
the  old  boy  to  retreat  ?  What  awful  stories  your  sister-in-law  must 
have  told  of  you  !"  to  Mrs.  Liddell. 


68  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

She  was  greatly  annoyed,  but,  urg-cd  by  all-powerful  self-interest, 
she  maintained  "a  smooth  face,  and  answered,  "Oh  yes,  when 
Katherine  kept  worrvrng-  about  our  disturbing  her  uncle,  the  poor 
old  man  got  up  and  left  the  room." 

"  Well,  you  must  turn  her  flank,  and  be  sure  to  let  me  know  how 
matters  prb^-rc^s.     I  suppose  you  will  be  here  all  the  autumn?" 

"I  should  think  so  ;  small  chance  of  my  going-  out  of  town,"  she 
returned,  bitterly,  and  the  words  had  scai'ce  left  her  lips  before  she 
felkshe  had  made  a  mistake.  Men  hate  to  be  bothex-ed  with  the  dis- 
comforts of  others. 

The  result  was  that  Colonel  Ormonde  cut  short  his  adieux,  and 
parted  from  her  with  less  reg-ret  than  he  felt  five  minutes  before. 

The  young-  widow  walked  smartly  back,  holding  her  eldest  body's 
hand,  and  administered  a  sharp  rebuke  to  him  for  talking  too  much. 
To  which  Cecil  replied  that  he  had  only  answered  when  he  Avas 
spoken  to.  This  elicited  a  scolding  for  his  impertinence,  and  pro- 
duced further  tart  answers  from  the  fluent  young  gentleman,  whic  h 
ended  by  his  beino-  dismissed  in  a  fury  to  Jane,  vice  Charles,  pro- 
moted to  walk  beside  mamma. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Mrs.  Liddell  lost  no  time  about  answering 
her  daughter's  note  in  person.  In  truth,  toward  the  end  of  a  w«ek  s 
separation  she  generally  began  to  hunger  painfully  for  a  sight  of 
her  Katie's  face,  to  feel  the  clasp  of  her  soft  arms,  and  to  this  was 
added  in  the  present  instance  serious  uneasiness  respecting  the 
strain  to  which  her  sense  of  responsil)ility  as  nurse  as  well  as  house- 
keeper must  subject  so  inexperienced  a  creature. 

It  was  rather  late  in  the  aftei-noon  when  Mrs.  Liddell  reached 
Legrave  Crescent,  and  the  servant  showed  her  into  the  front  parlor 
at  once.  Katherine  almost  feared  to  draw  her  uncle's  attention  to 
the  visitor.  He  had  had  all  the  pa])ers  read  to  him,  and  even  asked 
for  some  articles  to  be  read  a  second  time  ;  now  after  his  dinner  he 
seemed  to  doze.  If  he  had  not  noticed  Mrs.  Liddell's  entry  she  had 
perhaps  better  take  her  away  upstairs  at  once,  but  while  sfie  thought 
she  spi-ang  to  her  and  locked  her  in  a  close,  silent  embrace. 

Turning  from  her,  he  saw  that  Mr.  Liddell's  eyes  were  open  and 
fixed  upon  them,  and  she  said,  softly  :  "  I  am  sorry  you  have  been 
disturbed.  I  shall  take  my  mother-  to  my  room  ;  perhaps  if  you 
want  anvthing  you  will  ring  for  me." 

'^l  will,"  he  returned  :  and  Mrs.  Liddell  thought  his  tone  a  little 
less  harsh  than  usual.  "  I  said  you  might  come  and  see  your 
daughter  when  yoTi  like,"  he  added,  "and  I  repeat  it.  You  TKave 
brought  her  up  more  usefully  than  I  expected."  Having  spoken,  he 
leanm  his  head  back  Mearily  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"I  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say  so,"  returnecl  Mrs.  Liddell,  quietly, 
and  immediately  followed  her  daughter  out  of  the  room. 

"Oh,  darling  mother,  lam  so  delighted  to  have  vou  here  all  to 
myself !  It  is  even  better  than  going  home,"  cried  Kate,  when  they 
were  safe  in  her  own  special  chamber.  "But  you  are  looking  pafe 
and  worn  and  thin— .<o  much  thinner  !" 

"That  is  an  improvement,  Katherine,"  returned  Mrs.  Liddell; 
♦•I  shall  look  all  the  younger." 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  69 

"Ah  !  but  your  face  looks  older,  dear.  What  has  been  worrying- 
you  ?    Has  Ada—" 

"  Ada  has  never  worried  me,  as  you  know,  Katie,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Liddell.  "  She  is  not  exactly  the  companion  I  should  choose 
for  every  day  of  my  life,  but  she  has  always  been  kind  and  nice 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  she  is  not  bad,  and  she  would  be  clever  if  she  manag-ed  to 
make  luni  quarrel.  I  am  quite  different.  Now  I  must  g-et  you  some 
tea.  Pray  look  round  while  I  am  gone,  and  see  how  comfortable  it 
is  ;"  and  liatherine  hurried  away. 

She  soon  returned,  followed  by  Mrs.  Knapp,  who  was  glad  to 
carry  up  the  tea-tray  to  the  pleasant,  sensible  lady  who  had  en^-aged 
her  for  what  proved  to  be  not  an  uncomfortable  situation,  when, 
after  a  few  civil  words,  she  retired,  with  what  delight  and  tender 
care  Katie  waited  on  her  mother,  putting'  a  cushion  at  her  back  and 
a  footstool  under  her  feet,  remembering  ner  taste  in  sugar,  her  little 
weakness  for  cream ! 

"  It  was  very  warm  in  the  omnibus,  I  suppose,  for  you  are  looking* 
better  already." 

"  I  am  better  ;  but,  Katherine,  your  uncle  is  curiously  changed. 
It  is  not  so  much  that  he  looks  ill,  but  by  comparison  so  alarmingly- 
amiable." 

"Well,  he  is  less  appalling  than  he  was,  and  I  have  grown 
wonderfully  accustomed  to  him.  But  for  the  monotony,  it  is  not  so 
bad  as  I  expected,  and  it  will  be  better  now,  as  Mr.  Newton  is  to 
give  me  the  weeklv  money.    I  think  my  uncle  is  tryin^-  to  live." 

"  Poor  man  !  he  has  little  to  live  for,"  said  Mrs.  Li'ddeTl. 

"  He  wishes  to  outlive  some  other  old  man,  because  then  he  wiU 
get  a  good  deal  of  money,  according  to  some  curious  system— called 
a  'Tontine.'" 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  The  ruling  passion,  then,  in  his  instance  is  strongf 
against  death." 

"  What  a  poverty-stricken  life  his  has  been,  after  all !"  exclaimed 
Katherine.     "  Did  Ada  tell  you  how  vexed  he  was  at  her  visit  ?" 

"  She  was  greatly  ottended,  but  I  should  like  your  version  of  it." 

Katherine  told  her,  and  repeated  Mr.  Newton's  inquiry  about  Mrs. 
Fred  Liddell's  family  name. 

"  Mr.  Newton  is  very  kind.  He  is  very  formal  and  precise,  and 
very  guarded  in  all  he  says,  yet  I  feel  tnat  he  likes  me— us — and 
would  like  my  uncle  to  do  something  for  us." 

"  I  never  hoped  he  would  do  as  much  as  he  has  If  he  would  re- 
member those  poor  little  boys  in  his  will  it  would  be  a  great  help. 
You  and  I  could  always  manage  together,  Katie." 

"  I  wish  that  we  were  togetner  by  our  own  selves  once  more," 
returned  Kate,  nestling  up  to  her  mother  on  the  big  old-fashioned 
sofa,  and  resting  her  head  on  her  shoulder. 

"I  Avish  to  God  we  were !    I  miss  you  so  awfully,  my  darling  ! " 

There  was  a  short  silence  while  the  two  clung  "lovingly  together. 
Then  Katherine  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Mr.  Newton  evidently  thinks 
he— my  imcle— has  made  a  very  unjust  will,  and  fears  he  will  never 
change  it." 

"  Most  probably  he  will  not  5  but  he  ought  not  to  cut  off  his  natural 
heirs." 


70  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Would  Cecil  and  Charlie  be  his  natural  heirs?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  and  something'  would  come  to  you  too  ;  but  I  do  not 
understand  these  matters.  It  is  dreadful  how  mean  and  mercenary 
this  terrible  need  for  money  makes  one." 

"You  want  it  very  much,  mother?  There  is  trouble  in  your 
voice  ;  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"There  is  no  six-cial  pressure,  dear,  just  now;  but  unless  I  am 
more  successful  with  my  pen  I  g-reatly  fear  I  shall  g-et  into  debt 
before  I  can  liberate  myself  from  that  house.  Yet  if  I  do,  what  will 
become  of  Ada  and  the*^ boys?"    She  paused  to  cough. 

Katherine  was  silent ;  the  tone  of  ner  mother's  voice  told  more 
than  her  words.  "  But,"  resumed  Mrs.  Liddell,  "all  is  not  black. 
Thti  Dahfon  Weekh/  has  taken  my  short  story,  and  given  me  ten 
pounds  for  it.  However,  you  must  take  the  bad  with  the  good  ;  my 
poor  three-decker  has  come  back  on  my  hands." 

Kathei'ine  uttered  a  low  exclamation.  "I  did  hope  they  would 
have  taken  it !  and  what  miserable  pay  for  that  bright,  pretty  story  ! 
Mother,  I  cannot  believe  that  the  novel  will  fail.  Do,  do  try'Santley 
&  Sou  ;  I  have  alwaj's  heard  they  were  such  nice  people.  Try — 
promise  me  you  will." 

"  Dear  jvatie,  I  will  do  whatever  you  ask  me  ;  but— but  I  confess  I 
feel  as  if  Hope,  who  has  always  befriended  me,  had  turned  her  back 
at  last.  I  am  so  dreadfuUv  tired  !  I  feel  a§  if  I  was  never  to  rest. 
Oh  for  a  cou})lo  of  years  of  peace  before  I  go  hence,  and  a  certainty 
that  i,'ou  would  not  want !" 

"  Do  not  fear  for  me,"  cried  Katherine,  pressing'  her  mother  to 
her  and  covering  her  pale  cheeks  with  kisses.  "  For  myself  I  fear 
nothing,  but  for  i/ok,  I  greatly  fear  you  are  unwell  ;  you  breathe 
shortl\^ ;  your  hands  are  feverish.  Do  not  let  hope  g-o.  A  few 
weeks  and  my  uncle  will  be  stronger,  or  he  may  be  invigorated  by 
feeling  he  has  killed  out  the  other  old  man,  and  then  I  will  g'o  back 
to  you  and  help  you,  whatever  happens.  I  won't  stay  here  to  act 
compound  interest.    My  own  darlino-  mother,  keep  up  your  heart." 

"I  am  ashamed  of'mvself,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  in  an  unsteady 
voice.  "1  ought  not  to  have  grieved  your  young  heart  with  my 
depression,  for  I  hare  been  depres.sed." 

"  Whv  not  ?  What  is  the  good  of  youth  and  strength  if  it  is  not  to 
uphold  tiiose  who  have  already  had  --ore  than  their  share  of  life's 
burdens?" 

"  I  assure  you  this  outpouring  has  relieved  me  greatly;  I  shall 
return  like  a  giant  refreshed,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  rallying  gallantly; 
"and  3"0U  may  depend  on  my  trying  the  fortune  of  my  poor  novel 
once  more,  with  Santley  &  Son.  "  Now  tell  me  how  j'our  domestic 
management  prospers." 

A  long  confidential  discussion  ensued,  and  at  last  Mrs.  Liddell  was 
obliged  to  leave. 

Katherine  went  to  tell  her  undo  she  was  going  to  set  her  mother 
on  her  way,  and  to  see  his  cup  of  beef  tea  served  to  him.  His  re- 
mark alniost  startled  her.  "Very  well,"  he  said.  "Come  back 
soon." 

This  interview  agitated  Katherine  more  than  Mrs.  Liddell  knew. 
Her  worn  look,  her  cough,  her  unwonted  depression,  thrilled  her 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  71 

datighter's  warm  heart  ^v^th  a  passion  of  tender  lon^-ing' to  bn  with 
her,  to  help  her,  to  g'ive  her  the  rest  she  so  sorely  nee<led";  and  in  the 
solitude  of  her  larg-e  dreary  room  she  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  h.n-  lips 
still   quivering-   with  the  loving-  epithets  she  had   murmured    to 

liwrgelf. 


CHAPTEE  Vm. 

"the  long  task  is  done." 

The  facility  with  which  human  nature  assimilates  ner^'  conditions 
is  among-  its  most  remarkable  attributes.  A  week  had  scarcely 
elaps  d  since  John  LiddcH's  sudden  indisposition  and  subsidence  into 
an  invalid  condition,  yet  it  si^mad  to  Katherine  that  he  had  been 
breakfas- ing  in  bed  for  a"-es,  and  might  continue  to  do  so  for  anotlicr 
cycle  without  change.  Her  inexp^jrience  took  no  warnings  from  the 
rapidly  developing'  signs  of  decadence  and  failing-  force  which  Mr. 
Newton  perceived  ;  and,  on  tha  whole,  she  found  her  task  of  house- 
keei>er  and  cai-etaker  less  ungrateful  since  weakness  had  subdued 
her  uncle,  and  the  friendly  lawyer  had  been  appointed  paymaster. 

The  davs  sp.'d  with  the  swiftness  monotony  lends  to  time.  Mrs. 
Liddell  always  visited  her  daug-hter  once  a  Aveek.  Occasionally 
Katherine  got  leave  of  absence,  and  spent  an  hour  or  two  at  home, 
wiiere  she  enjoyed  a  game  of  play  with  her  little  nephews.  Other- 
wise home  was  less  homelike  than  formerly.  Ada  was  sulky  and 
dissatisfied  ;  she  dared  not  intrude  on  Mr.  Liddell  in  his  present  coxi- 
dition  ;  and  she  was  dreadfully  annoyed  at  not  being  able  to  give 
Colonel  Ormonde  any  encouraging  news  on  this  head.  Her  influence 
on  the  family  circle,  therefore,  was  not  cheerful.  Besides  this, 
though  Mrs.  Liddell  kept  a  bi-ave  front,  and  did  not  again  allow  her- 
self the  luxury  of  confidence  in  her  daughter,  there  were  unmistak- 
able signs  of"  care  and  trouble  in  her  face,  her  voice.  She  was 
unfailing  in  her  kind  forbearance  to  the  woman  her  son  had  loved, 
and  whatever  good  existed  in  Mrs.  Freds  rubbishy  little  heart 
responded  to  the  genial,  broad  humanity  of  her  mother-in-law.  But 
Katherine  perceived,  or  thought  she  perceived,  that  Mrs.  Liddell 
was  wearing  herself  down  in  the  effort  to  make  her  inmates  comfort- 
able, and  so  to  beat  out  her  scanty  store  of  sovereigns  as  to  make 
them  streich  to  the  margin  of  her  necessities.  It  was  a  very  shadowy 
and  narrow  pass  through  which  her  road  of  life  led  Katherine  at 
this  period,  nor  was  there  much  prospect  beyond.  Moreover,  as  her 
mother  had  anticipated,  th:i  invisible  cords  which  bound  her  to  the 
moribund  old  miser  were  tightening  their  hold  more  and  more,  she 
often  looked  back  and  wondered  at  the  sort  of  numbness  which  stole 
over  her  spirit  during  this  time  of  trial. 

September  was  now  in  its  first  week  ;  the  weather  was  wet  and 
cold  ;  and  Kath(>rine  was  thankful  when  Mr.  Newton's  weekly  visit 
was  due.  It  was  particularly  stormy  that  day,  and  he  was  a  little 
later  than  usual. 

When  she  had  left  solicitor  and  client  together  for  some  time,  she 


72  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

descended,  as  was  her  custom,  to  make  a  cup  of  tea  for  the  former, 
and  g-ive  her  uncle  his  beef  tea  or  jelly. 

Mr.  Newton  rose,  shook  hands  with  her,  and  then  resumed  his 
conversation  with  Mr.  LiddelJ. 

"  I  do  not  for  a  moment  mean  to  say  that  he  is  a  reckless  bettor  or 
a  mere  g-ambling-  horse-racer ;  and,  after  all,  to  ent.'r  a  horse  or  two 
for  the  local  races,  or  even  Newmarket,  is  perfectly'  allowable 
in  a  man  of  his  fortune— it  will  neither  make  him  nor  mar 
him.' 

"It  will  mar  him,"  returned  Mr.  Liddell,  in  more  energetic  tones 
than  Katherine  had  heard  him  utter  since  he  was  laid  up.  "A man 
who  believes  he  is  rich  enou','-h  to  throw  av/ay  monev  is  on  the  brink 
of  rum.  He  appears  to  me  in  a  totallv  different  light.  I  thought  he 
was  steady,  ihoughtful,  alive  to  the  responsibility  of  his  position. 
Ah,  who  is  to  be  trusted?    Who?" 

There  eemed  no  reply  to  this,  for  Mr.  Newton  started  a  new  and 
absorbing  topic. 

_  "Mr.  Fergusson  is  keeping  wonderfully  well,  "he  remarked.  "His 
sister  was  calling  on  my  wife  yesterdav,  and  says  that  since  he  took 
thi.s  new  food—'  Hevalenta  Arabica, '  I  "think  it  'is  called— he  is  quite 
a  new  man." 

"  What  food  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Liddell.  While  Newton  explained, 
Katherine  reflected  with  some  wonder  on  the  fact  that  there  was  a 
Mrs.  Newton  ;  it  had  never  come  to  her  knowledge  before.  She  tried 
to  imagme  the  precise  lawyer  in  love.  Ho  a  did  he  propose?  Surelv 
on  pap.-r,  in  the  most  strictly  legal  terms  !  Could  he  ever  have  felt 
the  divine  joy  and  exultation  which  loving  and  being  loved  must 
create  ?  Had  he  lit.le  children  ?  and  oh  !  did  he,  could  iie,  ever  dance 
them  on  his  knee  ?  He  was  a  goo;l  man.  she  Avas  sure,  but  goo<lness 
so  starched  and  ironed  was  a  lit  le  appalling. 

Thvise  fancies  lasted  till  the  description  of  Revalenta  Arabica  was 
ended  ;  then  Mr.  Liddell  said,  "Tell  mv  niece  where  to  get  it." 
Never  ha<l  he  called  her  niece  before  ;  even  Mr.  Newton  looked  sur- 
prised. "I  well  send  you  the  address,"  he  said.  "  And  here,  Miss 
Liddell,  is  the  check  fer  next  week." 

"I  have  still  some  monev  from  the  last,"  said  Katherine,  bliLsh- 
ing.  "I  had  better  give  it  to  vou,  and  then  the  check  need 
not  be  interfered  with."  She  hated  to  speak  of  money  before  her 
imcle. 

"As  you  like.    You  are  a  good  manager,  Miss  Liddell." 

"Give  it  to  me,"  crii'd  the  invalid  from  his  easy-chair;  "I 
will  put  it  in  my  bureau.  I  have  a  few  coins  there,  and  thev  can  go 
together." 

"Very  well ;  but  had  not  my  uncle  better  write  an  acknowledg- 
ment? We  shall  be  puzzled  about  the  money  when  we  come  to  reckon 
up  at  the  end  of  the  month,  if  he  does  not." 

Katherine  had  been  taught  by  severe  experience  the  necessity  of 
saving  herself  harmless  when  handling  Mr.  Liddell's  money. 

"An  acknowledgment,"  repe  ted  the  old  man,  with  a  slight, 
sobbing,  inward  laugh.  "That  is  Avell  thought.  Yes,  by 
all  means  write  it  out,  Mr.  Newton,  and  I  will  sign.  Oh  yes ;  I 
will  sign !" 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  T3 

Newton  turned  to  the  writing'-table  and  traced  a  few  lines,  brlngf- 
ing"  it  on  the  blotting-pad  for  his  client's  signature. 

*'I  can  sign  steadily  enough  still,"  said  Mr.  Liddell,  slowly,  "and 
my  name  is  j oxl  for  a  few  thousands.    Hey  ?" 

"That  it  certainly  is,  Mr.  Liddell.'' 

"Do  you  think  old  Fergusson  could  sign  as  steadily  as  that?** 
asked  Mr.  Liddell,  with  a  slight,  exultiu""  smile. 

"I  should  say  not.  What  writing  of  his  I  have  seen  was  a  ter- 
rible scrawl." 

"Hum  !  he  wasn't  a  gentleman,  you  know.  He  drank  too  ;  not  to 
be  intoxicated,  but  too  much— too  much  !  For  he  will  find  the  tem- 
perance man  too  many  for  him.  VU  win  the  race,  the  waitings 
race  ;"  and  he  laughea  again  in  a  distressing,  hysterical  fashion, 
that  quite  exhausted  him. 

Katherine  flew  to  fetch  cold  water,  while  the  old  man  leaning 
back  panting  and  breathless,  and  Mr.  Newton,  much  alarm^, 
fanned  him  with  a  folded  newspaper. 

He  gradually  recovered,  but  complained  much  of  the  beating  of 
his  heart.  Mr.  Newton  wished  to  send  for  the  doctor,  but  Mr.  Lid- 
dell would  not  hear  of  it.  Then  he  urged  his  allowing  the  serv'ant 
at  least  to  sleep  on  the  sofa  in  the  front  parlor,  leaving  the  door  into 
Mr.  Liddell's  room  open.  To  this  the  object  of  his  solicitude  was  also 
opposed,  so  Mr.  Newton  bade  him  farewell.  Katherine,  however, 
waylaid  him  in  the  hall,  and  they  held  a  short  conference. 

"He  really  ought  not  to  be  left  alone  at  night." 

"No,  he  must  not,"  said  Katherine.  "I  will  make  our  servant 
spend  the  night  in  the  parlor.  She  can  easily  open  the  door  after 
the  lights  are  out,  without  his  being  vexed  bv  knowing  she  is  there. 
I  could  not  sleep  if  I  thought  he  was  alone.  I  will  come  very  early 
in  the  morning  to  relieve  her.'' 

"Do,  my  dear  young  lady.  I  will  call  on  the  doctor  and  beg  him 
to  come  round  early." 

"  Do  you  think  my  uncle  so  ill,  then?" 

"He  is  greatly  changed,  and  his  weakness  makes  me  uneasy.  I 
trust  in  God  he  may  be  spared  a  little  longer." 

Katherine  looked  and  felt  surprised  at  the  fervor  of  his  tone. 
Little  did  she  dream  the  real  source  of  the  friendly  lawyer's  anxiety 
to  prolong  a  very  profitless  existence. 

After  a  few  more  remarks  and  a  promise  to  come  at  anv  time  if  he 
were  needed,  Mr.  Newton  departed ;  and  Katherine  got  through  the 
dreary  evening  as  best  she  could. 

How  she  longed  to  summon  her  mother  !  but  she  feared  to  irritate 
her  uncle,  who  was  evidently  unequal  to  bear  the  slightest  agitation. 

Next  day  was  unusually  cold,  and  though  Mr.  Liddell  had  passed 
a  tranquil  night,  he  seemed  averse  to  leave  his  bed.  He  lay  there 
verv  quietly,  and  listened  to  the  papers  being  read,  and  it  was  late 
in  tlhe  afternoon  before  he  would  get  up  and  dress.  From  this  time 
forvrard  he  rarely  rose  till  dusk,  and  it  grew  more  and  more  an  eflbrt 
to  him.  He  was  always  pleased  to  see  Mr.  Newton,  and  to  converse 
a  little  with  him.  He  even  spoke  with  tolerable  civility  to  Mrs. 
Liddell  when  she  came  to  see  her  daughter. 

As  the  weather  grew  colder— and  autumn  that  year  was  very 


74  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

wintiy— he  objected  more  and  more  to  leave  his  bed,  and  at  last 
came  to  sitting-  up  only  for  a  couple  of  hours  in  the  chair  by  his  bed- 
room lire.  It  was  during  one  of  these  intervals  that  Katherine,  who 
had  been  racking  her  brains  for  something  to  talk  of  that  would  in- 
terest him,  bethought  her  of  a  transaction  in  old  newspapers  which 
Mrs.  Knapp  had  brought  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  She  therefore 
took  out  "  certain  moneys  "  from  her  purse. 

"  We  have  sold  the  newspapers  at  last,  uncle,"  she  said.  "  I  kept 
back  some  for  our  own  use,  so  all  1  could  get  was  a  shilling  and 
three  halfpence."  She  placed  the  coins  on  a  Tittle  table  which  stood 
bv  his  arm-chair,  adding,  "I  suppose  you  know  the  Scotch  saying, 
*  Many  mickles  make  a  muckle '  ;  even  a  few  pence  are  better  than 
a  pile  of  useless  paj^ers." 

"I  know,"  said  Liddell,  with  feeble  eagerness,  clutching  the 
money  and  transferring  it  to  his  little  old  purse.  "It  is  a  good 
saying— a  wise  saying.  I  did  not  think  you  knew  it ;  but — but  why 
did  vou  keep  back  any  ?" 

'•Because  one  always  needs  waste  paper  in  a  house,  to  light  fires 
and  cover  thinos  from  dust.  I  shall  collect  more  next  time,"  she 
added,  seeing  tne  old  man  was  pleased  with  the  idea. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  sat  gazing  at  the  red  coals,  his  lips  moving 
slightly,  and  the  purse  still  in  his  hand.  Again  he  opened  it,  and 
took  out  the  coins  she  had  given  him,  holding  them  to  the  lire-light 
in  the  hollow  of  his  thin  hand. 

"Do  you  know  the  value  of  monev?"  he  said  at  length,  lookin"' 
piercingly  at  her.  "  Do  you  know  the  wonderful  life  it  has— a  li^ 
of  its  own  ?" 

"If  the  want  of  can  teach  its  value  I  ought  to  know,"  she  re- 
turned. 

"  You  are  wrong  !  Poverty  never  teaches  its  worth.  You  never 
hold  it  and  study  it  when,  the  moment  you  touch  it,  you  have  to 
exchange  it  for  commodities.  No !  it  is  when  you  can  spare  some 
for  a  precious  seed,  and  watch  its  growth,  and  see — see  its  power  of 
self -multiplication  if  it  islet  alone— just  let  alone,"  he  reiieated,  with  a 
touch  of  pathos  in  his  voice.  "Now  the.se  few  pence,  thirteen  and  a 
half  in  all— a  boy  with  an  accumulative  natui-e  and  j'outh,  early 
youth,  on  his  side,  might  build  a  fortune  on  these.  Yes,  he  might, 
if  he  had  not  a  grovjing  love  of  food  and  comfort." 

"Do  you  think  he  really  could?"  asked  Kate,  interested  in  spite 
of  herself  in  the  theories  of  the  old  miser. 

"Would  you  care  to  know  ?"  said  her  uncle,  fixing  his  keen  dark 
eyes  upon  her. 

"  I  should  indeed."    Her  voice  proved  she  was  in  earnest. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you,  step  by  step,  but  not  to-night.  I  am  too 
weary.  You  are  different  from  the  others— your  father  and  your 
brother.    You  are— yes,  you  are— more  like  wr." 

"God  forbid  !"  was  Ivatherine's  mental  ejaculation. 

Mr.  Liddell  slowly  put  the  thirteen  pence  half  pennj'  back  in  his 
purse,  drew  forth  his  bunch  of  keys,  looked  at  them,*^  and  restorcMi 
them  to  his  pocket  ;  then,  resting  his  head  wearilv  against  the 
chair,  he  said,  "  Give  me  something  to  take  and  I  will  go  to 
bed." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  75 

Katherine  hastened  to  obey,  and  summoned  the  servant  to  r«-'w'st 
him,  as  usual. 

The  next  morning"  was  cold  and  wet,  with  showers  of  sleet,  and 
Mr.  Liddell  declared  he  had  taken  a  chill,  and  refused  to  g-et  up.  He 
was  indisjx)sed  to  eat,  and  did  not  show  any  interest  in  the  news- 
paper. About  noon  the  doctor  called.  Mr.  Liddell  answered  his 
questions  civilly  enough,  but  did  not  respond  to  his  attempts  at  con- 
versation. 

"  Your  uncle  is  in  a  very  low  condition,"  said  the  doctor,  when  he 
came  into  the  next  room,  where  Katherine  aAvaited  him,  "You 
must  do  your  best  to  make  him  take  nourishment,  and  keep 
him  as  warm  as  possible.  I  suppose  Mr.  Newton  is  always  in 
town  ?" 

"  I  think  so ;  at  least  I  never  knew  him  to  be  absent  since  T  came 
here.  I  rather  expect  him  to-day  or  to-morrow.  Do  you  think  my 
uncle  seriously  ill  ?" 

"  He  is  not  really  ill,  but  he  has  an  incurable  complaint— old  ag"e. 
He  ought  not  to  be  so  weak  as  he  is  ;  still,  he  may  last  some  time, 
with  your  good  care." 

Katherine  took  her  needle-work  and  settled  herself  to  keep  watch 
by  the  old  man.  The  doctor's  inquiry  for  ]VTr.  Newton  had  startled 
her  but  his  subsequent  words  allayed  her  uars.  "  He  may  last  for 
sont  •  time,"  conveyed  to  her  mind  the  notion  of  an  indefinite  lease 
of  life. 

Mr.  Liddell  seemed  to  be  slumbering  peacefully,  when,  after  a 
long  silence,  during  which  Katherine's  thoughts  had  traversed 
many  a  league  of  land  and  sea,  he  said  suddenly,  in  strong-er  tones 
than  usual,  "  Are  you  there?"  He  scarcely  ever  called  her  by  her 
name. 

"  I  am,"  said  Katherine,  coming-  to  the  bedside. 

"  Here,  take  these  keys  "—he  drew  them  from  under  his  pillows  ; 
"this  one  unlocks  that  bureau"— pointing  to  a  large  old-fashioned 
piece  of  furniture,  dark  and  polished,  which  stood  on  one  side  of  the 
fireplace  ;  "  open  it,  and  in  the  top  drawer  left  you  will  find  a  long, 
folded  paper.    Bring  it  to  me." 

Katherine  did  as  he  directed,  and  could  not  help  seeing  the  words, 
"  Will  of  John  Wilmot  Liddell,"  and  a  date  some  seven  or  eight 
vears  back,  inscribed  upon  it.  She  handed  it  to  her  uncle,  arrangmg 
his  pillows  so  that  he  might  sit  up  more  comfortably,  while  she  rather 
wondered  at  the  commonplace  aspect  of  so  potent  an  instrument.  A 
will,  she  imagined,  was  something  huge,  of  parchment,  with  big 
seals  attached. 

John  Liddell  slowly  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  unfolding  the  paper, 
read  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"This  will  not  do,"  he  said  at  last,  clearly  and  firmly.  "I  was 
mistaken  in  him.  The  care  for  and  of  money  must  be  bom  in  you ; 
it  cannot  be  taught.  No,  I  can  make  a  better  disposition.  Could 
you  take  care  of  money,  girl?"  he  asked  sternly. 

"  I  should  try,"  returned  Katherine,  quietly. 

There  was  a  pause.  The  old  man  lay  thinking,  his  lean,  brown 
hand  lying  on  the  open  paper.  "  Write,"  he  said  at  length,  so  sud- 
denly and  sharply  that  he  startled  bis  niece ;  get  paper  and  write  to 


76  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

yton."    Katharine  broug-ht  the  writing"  materials,  and  placed  her- 


•if  at  the  small  table. 


"Dear  sir,"  he  dictated—"  Ba  so  good  as  to  come  to  me  as  soon  as 
convenient.  I  wish  to  mal<e  a  will  more  in  accordance  with  my  present 
knowledge  than  any  executed  by  me  formerly.  I  am,  vours  faitti- 
fully." 

Katherine  broug-ht  over  pen  and  paper,  and  the  old  man  affixed 
his  signature  clearly. 

"  Now  fold  it  up  and  s^nd  it  to  past.  No— take  it  yourself  ;  then  it 
will  be  safe,  and  so  much  the  better  for  you  " 

Katherine  called  tha  good  natured  Mrs.  Knapp  to  take  her  place, 
and  sallied  forth.  She  was  a  good  deal  excited.  '.Vas  she  in  a  crisis 
of  her  fate  ;•*  Would  hsr  grim  old  uncle  leave  her  wherewithal  to 
give  the  dear  moth  t  rest  and  psace  for  the  remainder  of  her  days  ? 
It  would  not  take  much ;  would  he— oh,  would  he  remember  the  jwor 
iittle  boys?  She  never  dreamed  of  more  than  a  substantial  legacy  ; 
the  bulk  of  his  fortune  h;;  migiit  leave  to  whom  he  liked.  How 
dreadful  it  was  that  money  should  lie  such  a  grim  neci-ssity  ! 

She  felt  oppressed,  and  made  a  small  circuit  returning,  to  enjov  as 
much  fresh  air  as  she  could  and  called  at  some  of  the  shops  where 
she  was  accustomed  to  deal,  to  save  sending  the  servant  later.  She 
was  growing  a  little  nervoxis,  and  disliked  being  left  alone  in  the 
house. 

When  she  returned,  her  uncle  was  very  much  in  the  same  attitude]; 
but  he  had  folded  up  his  will  and  placed  his  hand  under  his  head. 
"  You  have  been  very  long,"  he  said,  querulously. 
Katherine  said  she  had  been  at  one  or  two  shoi)s. 
"Read  to  me,"  he  said,  "lam  tired  thinking;  but  first  lock  the 
bureau  and  give  me  the  keys  ;  ,you  left  them  hanging  in  the  lock.  I 
have  never  taken  my  eyes  from  them.    Now  I  have  them."  he  added, 
putting  them  under  his  pillow,  "I  can  rest.     Here,   take  tliis" — 
handing  her  the  w  II :  "put  it  in  the  drawer  of  my  writing-table  :  we 
may  want  it  to  morrow ;  and  I  do  not  wish  that  bureau  opened 
again  ;  everything  is  there." 

Having  placed  the  will  as  he  desired,  Katherine  began  to  read,  and 
the  rest  of  the  day  passed  as  usual. 

She  could  not,  however,  prevent  herself  from  listening  for  Mr. 
Newton's  knock.  She  felt  sure  he  would  hasten  to  his  client  as  soon 
as  he  had  read  his  note.  He  would  be  but  too  glad  to  draw  up 
another  and  a  juster  will. 

Without  a  word,  without  the  slightest  profession  of  friendship, 
Newton  had  managed  to  impress  Katherine  with  the  idea  that  he 
was  anxious  to  induce  Mr.  Liddell  to  do  what  was  right  to  his 
brother's  widow  and  daughter. 

But  night  closed  in,  and  no  Mr.  Newton  came.  Mr.  Liddell  was 
unusual^  wakeful  and  restless,  and  seemed  on  the  watch  himself, 
his  last  words  that  night  being,  "I  am  sure  Newton  will  be  here  in 
good  time  to-morrow." 

Instead,  the  morrow  brought  a  dapp3r  and  extremelv  modern 
young  man,  the  head  of  the  fii-m  in  right  of  succession,  his  late  father 
aaving  foun  led  the  house  of  Stephens  &  i^e^wtou. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  7t 

Mr.  Liddell  had  just  been  made  comfortable  in  his  great  invalid's 
chair  by  the  fire,  having*  risan  earlier  than  usual  in  expectation  of 
Mr.  Newton's  visit.  When  this  g-entleman  presented  himself,  Kath- 
arine observed  that  her  uncle  was  in  a  state  of  tremulous  impatience, 
and  the  moment  she  saw  the  stranger  she  felt  that  some  unlucky 
accident. had  preventexi  Newton  from  obeying  his  client's  behest. 

"Who— what?*"  gasped  Mr.  Liddell,  when  a  card  was  handed  to 
him.     "  Read  it,"  to  Katherine. 

"Mr.  Stephens,  of  Stephens  &  Newton,  Red  Lion  Square,"  she 
returned. 

"I  will  not  see  him,  I  do  not  want  him,"  cried  her  uncle,  angrily. 
'*  Where  is  Newton  ?    Go  ask  him  ?" 

With  an  oppressive  sense  of  embarra.ssment,  Katherine  went  out 
into  the  hall,  and  confronted  a  short,  slight  young  man  with  exceed- 
ingly tight  trousers,  a  colored  cambric  tie,  and  a  general  air  of  being 
on  the  turf.  He  held  a  white  hat  in  one  hand,  and  on  the  other, 
which  was  ungloved,  he  wore  a  large  seal  rin^.  Katherine  did  not 
know  how  to  say  that  her  uncle  would  not  see  nim,  but  the  stranger 
took  the  initiative. 

"Aw  -I  have  done  myself  the  honor  of  coming  in  person  to  take 
Mr.  Liddells  instructions,  as  Mr.  Newton  was  called  out  of  town  bj'- 
very  particular  business  yesterday  morning.  I  rather  hoped  he 
might  return  last  night,  but  a  communication  this  morning  informs 
us  he  will  be  detained  till  this  afternoon,  not  reaching  town  till  9..'30 
p.j[.  I  am  prepared  to  execute  any  directions  in  my  partner's 
stead." 

He  spo'ce  with  an  air  of  condescension,  as  if  he  did  Mr.  Liddell  a 
high  honor,  and  made  a  step  forward.  Katharine  did  not  know  what 
to  say.  It  was  terrible  to  keep  this  consequential  little  man  in  the 
hall,  and  there  was  literally  nowhere  else  to  take  him. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  but  my  uncle  is  very  unwell  and  nervous.  I  do 
not  think  he  could  see  any  one  but  Mr.  Newton,  who  is  an  old  friend, 
you  know,"  she  added,  deprecatingly. 

"  I  am  his  l?.gal  adviser  too,"  returned  the  young  man,  with  a 
slightly  o'Tended  air.  "I  am  the  senior  partnr'.r  and  head  of  the 
house, "and  the  worse  Mr.  Liddell  is,  the  greater  the  necessity  for  his 
giving  in.structions  respecting  his  will." 

"I  will  tell  him  Mr.  Newton  is  away,''  said  Katherine,  cour- 
teously ;  "and — would  you  mind  sitting  dov/n  here?  I  am  quite 
distressed  not  to  have  anv  better  place  to  oITer  you,  but  I  cannot 
help  it." 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  returned  the  young  lawyer,  struck  by 
her  sweet  tones  and  simple  good-breeding,  yet  looking  round  him 
at  the  worn  oil-cloth  and  shabby  stair-carpeting  with  manifest 
amazement. 

"Mr.  Newton  is  out  of  town,  and  does  not  return  till  late  this 
evening,''  said  Katherine,  returning  to  the  irate  old  man.  "  This 
gentleman  says  he  is  the  head  of  the  firm,  and  will  do  your  bidding 
in  Mr.  Newton's  stead." 

"  Tell  him  he  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  returnexi  Mr.  Liddell, 
in  a  weak,  hoarse,  impatient  voice.  "I  .saw  him  once,  and  I  know 
him:  he  is  au  ignoraiit,  addle-pated  jackanapes.    He   shall   not 


*IB  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

muddle  my  affairs  ;  send  him  away  ;  I  can  wait  for  Newton.    1  don't 
suppose  I  am  g'oing-  to  die  to-night"!" 

And  Katherine,  blushing  "celesrial  rosy  red,"  hied  back  to  the 
smai't  young-  man,  who  was  reposing-  himself  on  the  only  seat  the 
entrance  boasted,  and  conjecturing  that  if  this  line,  fair,  soft-spoken 

firl  was  to  be  the  old  miser's  heir,  she  would  be  almost  deserving  of 
is  own  mati-tmonial  intentions. 

"  My  uncle  begs  me  to  apologize  to  you,  Mr.  Stephens,  but  he  is 
so  much  accustomed  to  Mr.  Newton,  and  in  such  a  nervous  state, 
that  he  would  prefer  waiting  till  that  ge  .tleman  can  come." 

"Oh,  very  well ;  only  I  wish  I  had  kno^\^l  befoi*e — I  came  up  here 
at  some  inconvenience  ;  and  also  wish  Mr.  Liddell  could  be  per- 
suaded that  delays  are  dangerous." 

"The  delay  is  not  for  very  long.  I  am  sorry  you  had  this  fruit- 
less trouble.    Mr.  Liddell  is"  very  weak." 

"  I  am  sure  if  anything  could  restore  him,  it  would  be  the  care  of 
such  a  nurse  as  you  must  be,''  with  a  bow  and  a  grin. 

"Thank  you  ;  good-morning,"  said  Katherine,  with  such  an  air 
of  decided  cfismis.sal  that  the  young  senior  partner  at  once  departed. 

Mr.  Liddell  fretted  and  fumed  for  an  hour  or  two  before  he  had 
exhausted  himself  sufficiently  to  sit  still  and  listen  to  Katherine's 
reading  ;  and  after  he  had  apparently  sunk  into  a  doze,  he  suddenly 
started  up  and  exclaimed  :  "  That  idiot,  young  Stephens,  will  never 
think  of  sending  to  his  house.  Write— write  to  Newton's  private 
residence." 

"I  think  Mr.  Stephens  will,  uncle.  He  seemed  anxious  to  meet 
your  wishes." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool— do  as  I  bid  you  !  Gtet  the  paper  and  pen.  Are 
you  readv  ?" 

"Iam> 

"  Dear  sir.  Let  nothing  prevent  your  coming  to  me  to-morrow," 
he  dictated  ;  "I  want  to  make  my  will.  It is.important  that afFairs 
be  not  left  in  confusion.  Yours  truly.  Give  me  the  pen,"  he  Avent 
on,  in  the  same  breath.  "I  can  sign  as  well  as  ever.  Now  go  you 
yourself  and  put  this  in  the  post.  I  do  not  trust  that  woman— tlfiey 
"all  stop  and  gossip,  and  I  want  this  to  go  by  the  next  despatch." 

Katherine.  always  thankful  to  be  in  the  air,  went  readily  enough. 
She  was  distressed  to  find  how  the  nervous  uneasiness  of  "yesterday 
was  growing  on  her.  The  perpetual  companionship  of  thegrim  ol(i 
skeleton,  her  uncle,  was  making  her  morbid,  shethoug-ht ;  she  must 
as!v  leave  to  go  and  spend  a  day  at  home  to  see  how  her  mother  was 
getting  on,  to  refresh  herself  by  a  game  of  romps  with  the  children. 
Why,  she  felt  absolutely  growing  old  ! 

When  she  re-entered  the  house  she  found,  much  to  her  satisfaction, 
that  the  doctor  was  with  Mr.  Liddell ;  and  after  laying  aside  her 
out-door  dress,  she  went  to  the  parlor. 

"  I  have  been  advi.sing  Mr.  Liddell  to  try  theeffectof  a  few  glasses 
of  champagne,"  said  the  former,  who  was  looking  rather  grave, 
Katherine  thought.  "But  as  there  is  none  in  his  cellar,  he  objects. 
Now  you  mtist  help  me  to  persuade  him.  I  am  going  on  to  a  patient 
in  Extent's  Park,  and  shall  pass  a  very  respectable  wine-merchant's 
on  my  way  ;  so  J  shall  just  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands  and 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  79 

order  a  couple  of  bottles  for  yon.  Consider  it  medicine.  It  is  won- 
derful how  much  more  g-eiieVally  champagne  is  used  than  when  you 
and  I  were  young-,  my  dear  sir  i"  etc.,  etc.,  he  went  on,  witli  pro- 
fessional cheerfulness.     But  Mr.  Liddell  did  not  heed  him  mucii. 

"  He  is  very  weak.  The  action  of  the  heart  is  extremely  feeble,'" 
said  the  doctor,  when  Katherine  followed  him  to  the  door.  "  Trv 
and  make  him  take  the  champag'ne." 

Another  day  drag-ged  throug-h  ;  then  Katherine,  rather  worn  with 
the  constant  involuntary  sense  of  watching  which  had  strained  her 
nerves  all  day,  slept  soundly  and  dreamlessly.     She  woke  earlv  next 
morning,  and  was  soon  dressed.    Mrs.  Knapp  reported  Mr.  Liddell  ' 
to  be  still  slumbering. 

"But  law,  miss,  he  have  had  a  bad  night— the  worst  yet,  I  think. 
He  was  dreaming  and  tossing  from  side  to  side,  and  then  he  would 
scream  out  words  I  couldn't  understand.  I  made  him  take  some  wine 
between  two  and  three,  but  I  do  not  think  he  knew  me  a  bit.  I  have 
had  a  dreadful  night  of  it." 

i  Katherine  expressed  her  sympathy,  and  did  what  she  could  to 
lighten  the  good  woman's  labors. 

Mr.  Liddell,  however,  though  he  looked  ghastly,  seemed  rather 
stronger  than  usual.  He  insisted  on  getting  up,  and  came  into  the 
sitting-room  about  eleven. 

It  was  a  cold  morning,  with  a  thick,  drizzling  rain.  Katherine 
made  up  the  fire  to  a  cheerful  glow,  and  bj^  her  uncle's  directions 

E laced  pen,  ink  and  paper  on  the  small  table  he  always  had  beside 
im.    Then  he  uttered  the  accustomed  commanding"  "Read,"  and 
Katherine  read. 

Suddenly  he  interrupted  her  by  exclaiming,  "Give  me  the  deaths 
first." 

.  It  had  been  a  whim  of  his  latterly  to  have  this  lugubrious  list  read 
to  him  every  day. 

Kaiherine  had  hardly  commenced  when  she  descried  Mr.  Newton's 
well-known  figure  advancing  from  the  garden  gate. 

"  Ah,  here  is  Mr.  Newton  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Ha  !  that  is  well,"  cried  heruncle,  with  shrill  exultation.  "Now 
—now  all  will  go  right." 

The  next  moment  the  lawyer  was  shown  in,  and  having  greeted 
them,  proceeded  to  apologize  for  his  unavoidable  absence.  "Here I 
am,  however,  sir,"  he  concluded,  "at  your  service.'' 

"Go— leave  us,"  said  Liddell,  abruptly  ^et  not  unkindly,  to 
Katherine  ;  then,  as  she  left  the  room,  "Finish  the  deaths  for  me, 
will  you,  before  we  go  to  business.  She  had  just  read  'he  first  two. 
Read— make  haste !" 

Somewhat  surprised,  Mr.  Newton  took  upthe  paper  and  continued: 
"  '  On  the  30th  September,  at  Wimbledon,  universally  regretted,  the 
Rev.  James  Johnson,  formerly  minister  of  "Little  Bethel,  Ber- 
mondsey."  On  October  1st,  at  her  residence,  Upwr  Clapton,  Esther, 
relict  of"'Captain  Doubleday,  late  of  the  E.  I.  C  Service.  On  the  2nd 
instant,  at  Bournemouth,  "Peter  Fergusson,  of  Upper  Baker  Street, 
in  the  seventy -fifth  year  of  his  age.'  " 

"  Fergusson  dead!  and  he  is  three  years  my  lunior  '  Now  it  is  all 
mine— all !— all !    I  shall  be  able  to  settle  it  as  I  like.    I  haven't  eaten 


80  A  CROOKED  PATH. - 

and  drunk  in  vain.  I'm  strong-,  quite  strong-.  All  the  papers  are 
there,  in  my  bureau.  I'll  show  them  to  you.  Aha !  I  thought  I'd 
outlive  him  !    I  was  determined  to  outlive  him  !'' 

With  an  uncanny  lau^-h  he  strugg-led  to  his  feet,  and  attempted 
to  w;ilk  to  his  bedroom,  his  stick  in  one  hand  and  the  keys  he  had 
taken  from  his  pjclvct  in  the  other.  For  a  few.  steps  he  walked  with 
a  deg"ree  of  strength  that  astonished  Newton  ;  then  he  gave  a  deep 
g-roan,  stag-g-ered,  and  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  crash. 

Newton  rushed  to  raise  him,  which  he  did  with  some  difficulty.  The 
noise  broug'ht  the  servant  to  his  assistance. 

"  Go  !  fetch  Dr.  Bilhane,"  siid  Mr.  Newton,  as  soon  as  they  had 
iaid  the  helpless  bedy  on  the  bod.  Though  I  doubt  if  he  can  do  any- 
thing.   The  old  man  is  gone." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"tempt  ation." 

To  Katherine,  who  was  in  her  own  room,  the  sound  beneath  came 
with  a  subdued  force,  and  knowing  Mr.  Newton  was  witli  him,  she 
thought  it  better  te  stay  where  she  was,  for  it  never  struck  her  that 
Mr.  Liddell  had  fallen. 

When,  therefore,  Mrs.  Knapp,  with  that  eagerness  to  spread  evil 
tidings  peculiar  to  her  class,  rushed  upstairs  to  announce  breathlessly 
that  she  was  going  for  the  doctor,  but  that  the  pjor  old  gentleman 
was  quite  dead,  Katherine  could  not  believe  her. 

She  quickly  descended  to  the  parlor,  where  she  found  Mr.  Newton 
standing  by  the  fire,  looking  pale  and  anxious. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Newton,  he  cannot  be  dead  !"  cried  Katherine.  "He 
seemed  stronger  this  morning,  and  he  has  fainted  more  tham  once. 
Let  me  bathe  his  temples."  She  took  a  bottle  of  eau-de-Cologne  from 
the  sideboard  as  she  spoke. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  both  your  servant  and  I  have  done  what 
we  could  to  revive  him,  and  I  fear — I  believe  he  has  passed  awav. 
The  start  and  the  triumph  of  finding  himself  the  last  survivor  of  the 
Tontine  association  were  too  much  for  his  weak  heart.  I  would  not 
go  in  if  1  were  j'ou  :  death  is  appalling  to  the  young." 

Katherine  stopped,  half  frightened,  yet  ashamed  of  her  fear.  "  Oh 
yes ;  I  must  satisfy  myself  that  I  can  do  nothing  mo.;^  for  him. 
Can  it  be  possible  that  he  will  never  speak  again— never  sc^arch  for 
news  of  that  other  poor  old  man?"  She  went  softlv  into  the  next 
room,  followed  by  Newton,  and  approaching  the  bed,  laid  her  hand 
gently  on  his  brow.  "How awfully  cold  !"'she  whispered,  shrinking 
back  in  spite  of  herself  at  the  unutterable  chill  of  death.  "  But  he 
looks  so  peaceful,  so  different  from  what  he  did  in  life  !"  She  stood 
gazing  at  him,  silent,  awe-struck. 

"Come  away,"  said  Newton,  kindly.  "The  doctor  will  be  here, 
I  trust,  in  a  few  minutes,  and  will  be  able  to  give  a  certificate  which 
will  save  the  worry  of  an  inquest." 

Katherine  obeym  his  gesture  of  entreaty,  and  went  slowly  into 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  81 

the  front  room,  where  she  sat  down,  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  table 
and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  while  Mr.  Newton  closed  the 
door. 

It  was  all  over,  then,  her  hopes  and  feai's  :  the  poor  wasted  life, 
as  much  wastexl  and  useless  as  if  sp3nt  in  the  wildest  and  most  ex- 
travagant follies,  was  tinished.  AVhat  had  it  left  behind .-'  Nothing 
of  good  to  any  human  being;  no  blessing  of  loving-kindness,  of 
help  and  sympathy,  to  any  suferin^  brother  wayfarer  on  life's  high- 
road ;  nothing  but  hard,  naked  gold— gold  which,  from  what  she  had 
board,  would  go  to  one  already  abundantly  provided.  Ah,  she  must 
not  think  of  that  gold  so  soi'ely  needed,  or  bad,  unseemly  ideas  would 
master  her  ! 

JrJut  Mr.  Newton  was  speaking.  "It  is  fortunate  I  was  here  to  be 
some  stay  to  you,"  he  said  ;  "the  shock  must  be  very  great,  and—" 
He  interrupted  himself  hastily  to  exclaim,  "Here  is  the  doctor  !  I 
shall  g-o  with  him  into  our  poor  friend's  room  ;  let  me  find  you  here 
when  I  come  back."  Katherine  bent  her  head,  and  remained  in  the 
same  attitude,  thinking,  thinking. 

How  long  it  was  before  the  kind  lawyer  returned  she  did  not 
know  ;  but  he  came  and  stood  by  her,  the"(ioctor  behind  him. 

"  It  is  as  I  supposed,''  said  Newton,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Life  is  quite 
extinct."    KathiM-ine  rose  and  confronted  them,  looking  very  white. 

"  Ye.s,"  added  the  doctor  ;  "death  must  have  been  instantaneous. 
Your  micle  was  in  a  condition  which  made  him  liable  to  succumb 
under  the  slightest  shock.  Can  you  give  me  paper  and  ink  ?  I  will 
write  a  certificate  at  once.     Then,  Miss  Liddell,  I  shall  look  to  you." 

Katharine  placed  the  writing"  materials  before  him  silently,  and 
watched  him  trace  the  lines  ;  tnen  he  handed  the  paper  to  Mr.  New- 
ton, saying,  "You  will  see  to  what  is  necessary  I  presume,"  and 
rising  "he  took  Katherine's  hand  and  felt  her  pulse.  "  Very  unsteady 
indeed ;  I  would  recommend  a  glass  of  wine  now,  and  at  night  a 
composing  draught,  which  I  will  send  If  I  can  do  nothing  more  I 
must  go  on  my  rounds.  I  shall  be  at  home  again  about  six,  should 
you  require  my  services  in  any  way." 

He  went  out,  followed  by  Mr.  Newton,  and  they  spoke  together  for 
a  few  moments  before  the'doctor  entered  his  carriage  and  drove  off. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Newton,  when  he  returned— the  start- 
ling event  of  the  morning  seemed  to  have  taken  off  the  sharp  edge  of 
his  precision—"  what  shall  you  do  ?  1  suppose  you  would  like  to  go 
home.     It  would  be  rather  trying  for  you  to  stay  here." 

"To  go  home  !"  returned  Katherine,  slowly.  '  "Yes,  I  should,  oh, 
very  much  !  but  I  will  not  go.  My  uncle  never  was  unkind  to  me, 
and  I  will  stay  in  his  house  until  he  is  laid  in  his  last  resting-place. 
Yet  1  do  not  like  to  stay  alone.     May  I  have  my  mother  with  me?" 

"  Yes.  by  all  means.  I  tell  you  what,  I  will  drive  over  and  break 
the  njvs  to  her  mvself ;  then  .she  can  come  to  you  at  once.  I  have 
a  very  particular  appointment  in  the  city  this  afternoon,  but  I  shall 
arrange  to  spend  to-morrow  forenoon  here,  and  examine  the  contents 
of  that  bureau.  I  have  thought  it  well  to  take  possession  of  your 
uncle's  keys. " 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Katherine;  "you  ought  to  have  them. 
And  you  will  go  and  §end  my  mother  to  me !    I  shall  feel  quite  well 


82  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

and  strong-  if  she  is  near.  How  g-ood  of  you.  to  think  of  it !"  and  she 
raised  her  dark  tearful  eyes  so  gratefully  to  his  that  the  worthy  law- 
yer's heart  kindled  within  him. 

"My  dear  younj^  lady,  I  have  rarely,  if  ever,  regretted  anything 
SO  much  as  my  uniortunate  absence  yesterday,  though  had  I  been 
able  to  answer  my  1  tte  client's  hrst  summons,  I  doubt  if  time  would 
hare  permitted  the  completion  of  a  new  will.  Now  my  best  hope, 
':'ioug"h  it  is  a  very  faint  one,  is  that  he  may  have  destroyed  his  last 
.ill,  and  so  died  intestate." 

*'  ^Vhy  ?"  asked  Katherine,  indiflferently.      She  felt  very  hopeless. 

*•  It  would  be  better  for  you.  You  would,  I  rather  think,  be  the 
catural  heir."  Katherine' only  shook  her  head.  "Of  course  it  is 
iiot  likely.  Still,  I  have  known  him  destroy  one  will  before  he  made 
another.  He  has  made  four  or  five,  to  my  knowledge.  So  it  is 
wiser  not  to  hope  for  any  thin  o-.  I  shall  always  do  what  I  can  for 
you.  Now  you  are  quite  cold  and  shivering-.  I  would  advise  your 
going-  to  your  room,  and  keeping'  there  out  of  the  way.  You  can  do 
no  more  for  your  uncle,  and  I  will  send  your  mother  to  you  as  soon  as 
I  can.     1  suppose  you  have  the  keys  of  the  house?" 

Katherine  bowed  her  head.  She  seemed  ton";-ue-tied.  Only  when 
Mr.  Newton  took  her  hand  to  say  good-by  she  burst  out,  "  You  will 
send  my  mother  to  me  soon— soon  !" 

Then  she  went  away  to  her  own  room.  Locking-  the  door,  she  sat 
down  and  buried  her  face  in  the  cushions  of  the  sofa.  She  felt  her 
thoughts  in  the  wildest  confusion,  as  if  some  separate  exterior  self 
was  exerting  a  sti-ange  power  over  her.  It  had  said  to  her,  "  Be 
silent,"  when  Mr.  Newton  six)ke  of  the  possibility  of  nol  finding  the 
will,  and  she  had  obeyed  without  the  smallest  intention  to  do^good 
or  evil.  Some  force  she  could  not  resist— or  rather  she  did  not  dream 
of  resisting — imposed  silence  on  her.  To  what  had  this  silence 
committed  her  ?  To  nothing.  When  Mr.  Newton  came  and  ex- 
amined the  bureau  he  would  no  doubt  open  the  drawer  of  the  writing- 
table  also.  She  had  locked  it,  and  put  the  key  in  the  little  basket 
where  the  keys  of  her  scantily  .supplied  store  closet  and  of  the  ceilarec 
lay  ;  there  it  stood  on  the  round  table  near  the  window, with  her  ink- 
bottle  and  blotting-book.  She  sat  up  and  looked  at  it  fixetUy.  That 
little  key  was  all  that  intervened  between  her  and  rest,  freedom,  en- 
joyment. The  more  she  recalled  her  uncle's  words  and  manner  on 
the  day  he  had  riictatcd  his  first  note  to  Mr.  Newton,  the  more  con- 
vinced she  felt  that  he  had  intended  to  provide  for  her,  and  now  hia 
intentions  would  be  frustrated,  and  the  will  the  old  man  wished  to 
suppress  would  be  the  instrument  by  which  his  possessions  would  be 
distributed. 

It  was  too  bad.  She  did  not  know  how  closely  the  hope  of  her 
mother's  emancipation  from  the  long  hard  struggle  with  poverty 
and  its  attendant  evils  bv  means  of  Uncle  Liddell's  possible  bequest 
had  twined  itself  round  her  heart.  Now  she  could  not  give  it  up. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  her  mental  grasp  refused  to  relax. 

She  rose  and  began  to  make  some  little  arrangement  for  her 
mother's  comfort,  and  presently  the  servant  came  to  ask  if  she  would 
take  some  tea. 

"I'm  sure,  miss,  you  must  be  faint  for  want  of  food,  and  we  are 
just  going  to  have  some— the  woman  and  me." 


""  ^  A  CROOKED  PATH.  83 

"What  woman?" 

"  A  very  respectable  person  as  Dr.  Bilham  sent  in  to— to  attend  to 

the  poor  old  gentleman,  miss." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you.  I  could  not  take  anything"  now,  I  expect  my 
mother  soon  ;  then  I  shall  be  g-lad  of  some  tea." 

"  Well,  miss,  you'll  ring'  if  you  want  me.  And  dear  me !  you 
oug'ht  to  have  a  bit  of  fire.    I'll  light  one  up  in  a  miunit." 

"  Not  till  you  have  had  your  tea.     I  am  not  cold  " 

"You  look  awful  bad,  miss!"    With  this  comforting  assurance  . 
Mrs.   Knapp  departed,  leaving  the  door  partially  open.  j 

A  muffled  sound,  as  if  people  were  moving  softly  and  cautiously,  ' 
was  wafted  to  Katherine  as  she  sat  and  listened  :  then  a  door  closed 
gently  ;  voices  murmuring  in  a  subdued  tone  reached  her  ear,  re- 
treating as  if  the  speakers  had  gone  down -stairs. 

Katherine  went  to  the  window.  It  was  a  wretchedly  dark,  driz- 
zling afternoon— cold  too,  with  gusts  of  wind.  She  hoped  Mr  New- 
ton would  make  her  mother  take  a  cab.  It  was  no  weather  for  her 
to  stand  about  waiting  for  an  omnibus.  Would  the  time  ever  come 
when  they  need  not  think  of  pennies  ? 

Suddenly  she  turned,  took  a  key  from  her  basket,  and  walked 
composedly  down-stairs,  unlocked  the  drawer  of  the  writing-table, 
and  took  out  her  uncle's  last  will  and  testament.  Then  she  closed 
the  drawer,  leaving  the  key  in  the  lock,  as  it  had  always  been,  and 
returned  to  her  room. 

Having  fastened  her  door,  she  applied  herself  to  read  the  docu- 
ment. It  was  short  and  simple,  and  with  the  exception  of  a  small 
legacy  to  Mr.  Newton,  left  all  the  testator  possessed  to  a  man  whose 
name  was  utterly  unknown  to  her.  Mr.  Newton  was  the  sole  exe- 
cutor, and  the  will  was  dated  nearly  seven  years  back. 

Katherine  read  it  through  a  second  time,  and  then  very  deliber- 
ately folded  it  uj).  "  It  siiall  not  stand  in  m\i  way,"  she  murmured, 
her  "lips  closing  firmly,  and  she  sat  for  a  few'minutes  holding-  it  tight 
in  her  hand,  as  she  thought  steadily  what  she  should  do.  "Had  my 
imcle  lived  a  few  hours  more,  this  would  have  been  destroyed  or 
nullified.  I  will  carry  out  his  intentions.  I  wonder  what  is  the 
legal  penalty  for  the  crime  or  felony  I  am  going  to  commit  ?  At  all 
events  I  shall  risk  it.  The  only  punishment  I  fear  is  my  mother's 
condemnation.  She  must  never  know.  It  is  a  huge  theft,  whether 
the  man  I  rob  is  rich  or  poor.  I  hope  he  is  very  rich.  I  know  I  am 
doing  a  great  wrong  ;  that  if  others  acted  as  I  am  acting  there  wov.kl 
be  small  security  for  property— perhaps  for  life— but  Til  do  it.  Siiall 
I  ever  be  able  to  hold  up  my  head  and  look  honest  follv  in  the  face  ' 
I  will  try.  If  I  commit  this  robbery  I  must  not  falter  nor  refient.  I 
must  be  consistently,  boldly  false,  and  I  must  get  done  with  it  bafonj 
my  dearest  mother  "comes.  "How  grieved  and  disappointed  she  would 
be  if  she  knew  !  She  believes  so  tirmly  in  my  truthfulness.  W(!ll, 
I  have  been  true,  and  I  inU  be,  save  in  this.  Here  I  will  lie  by 
silence.  Where  shall  I  hide  it?  for  I  will  not  destroy  it— not  yet  at 
least.  No  elaborate  concealment  is  necessary." 
j  She  rose  up  and  took  some  thin  brown  paper— such  as  is  used  in 
shops  to  wrap  up  lace  and  ribbons— and  folded  the  will  in  it  neatly, 
(tying  it  up  with  twine,  and  wriUng  on  it,  "old  MSS.,  to  be  destroy' 


84  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

ed."  Then  she  laid  it  in  the  bottom  of  her  box.  "If  my  mother 
sees  it,  the  idea  of  old  MS.  will  certainly  deter  her  from  looking  at 
it."  She  put  back  the  thing's  she  had  t<iken  out  and  clostxl  the  box  ; 
then  she  stood  for  a  moment  of  thought.  What  would  the  result  be? 
Who  could  tell  ^  Some  other  unknown  Lidd^lls  might  start  up  to 
share  the  inheritance.  Well,  she  would  not  mind  tliat  much  ,  so 
long  as  she  could  secure  some  years  of  modest  compiitence  to  her 
mother,  somH  help  for  her  little  nephews,  she.  would  be  content. 

Now  that  she  had  accomplished  what  an  hour  ago  was  a  scarcely 
entertained  idea,  she  felt  wonderfully  calm,  but  curious  as  to  how 
things  would  turn  out,  with  the  sort  of  curiosity  she  might  have  felt 
with  regard  to  the  action  of  another. 

She  did  not  want  to  be  still  any  more,  however  ,  she  went  to  and 
fro  in  her  room,  dusting  it  and  putting  it  in  order  ,  she  rearranged 
her  own  hair  and  <h\'.s.s,  and  then  she  went  to  the  window  to  watch 
for  her  mother.  Time  had  gone  swiftly  while  her  thoughts  had  been 
so  intensely  occupied,  and  to  her  gre^at  deli^-ht  she  soon  saw  a  cab 
drive  up,  from  -vhich  Mrs.  Liddell  descendeo! 

Katherine  Hew  to  receive  h:3r,  and  in  the  joy  of  feeling  her  mother 
once  more  by  her  side  she  temporarily  forgot  the  sense  of  a  desper- 
ate deed  whfch  had  oppressed  her. 

Mrs.  Liddell  had  been  much  shocked  by  the  sudden  death  of  her 
brother-in-law,  but  her  chief  anxiety  was  to  fly  to  Katie,  to  shorten 
the  terrible  hours  of  loneliness  in  the  house  of  mourning. 

She  too  honestly  confessed  her  regret  that  the  old  man  had  been 
cut  off  befoi'e  he  could  fulfil  his  intention  of  making  a  new  will, 
"  though,"  she  said  to  her  daughter  as  they  talked  together,  "  we 
cannot  be  sure  that  he  would  have  remembei'ed  us— or  rather  you. 
But  there  is  no  use  in  thinking  of  what  is  past  out  of  the  ran^e  of 
possibilities.  Let  us  only  hope  whoever  is  heir  will  not  insist  on 
immediate  repayment  of  that  loan.  It  is  strange  that  you  should 
have  managed  to  make  the  poor  old  man's  acquaintance,  and  to  a 
certain  degree  succeed  with  him,  only  in  his  last  days." 

"Try  and  talk  of  something  el.se,  mother  dear.  It  is  all  so 
ghastly  and  oppressive !    Tell  me  about  Ada  and  the  boys." 

"  Ada  was  out  when  Mr.  Newton  came.  I  left  a  little  note  telling 
her  of  your  uncle's  awfully  sudden  death,  and  of  my  intention  of  re- 
maining with  you  until  after  the  funeral.  What  a  state  of  excite- 
ment she  will  be  in  !    I  have  no  doubt  she  will  be  here  to-morrow." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Katherine,  who  was  pouring  out  tea. 

"UidMr.  Newton  mention  to  you  that  your  uncle  had  written  to 
him  to  come  and  draw  up  a  new  will?" 

"  Why,  I  wro:^e  the  note,  which  my  uncle  signed." 

"  Yes,  of  course  ;  I  had  forgotten."^  But  did  Mr.  Newton  say  that 
he  had  a  faint  ho[)e  that  he  might  have  destroyed  the  other  will?" 

"  He  did  ;  but  it  is  not  probable." 

"  It  would  make  an  immense  difference  to  us  if  he  had." 

"  Would  it?"  asked  Kate,  to  extract  an  answer  from  her  mother. 

"  ^Ir.  Newton  believes  that  if  he  died  intestate  you  would  inherit 
everything." 

"  What !  would  not  the  little  boys  share  ?" 

*'I  am  not  sure.    But  to  get  away  from  the  subject,  which  some- 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  85 

how  always  draws  me  back  to  it,  I  have  one  bit  of  g-ood  news  for 
you,  my  darling-.  1  had  a  letter  from  Santley  this  morning-.  He 
will  take  my  novel,  and  will  g^ive  me  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
for  it. "  •'  ^ 

*'  Really?  Oh,  this  is  g-lorious  news  !  I  am  so  delig-hted  !  Then 
you  will  g-et  more  for  the  next ;  you  will  become  known  and  ap- 
preciated." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  ;  it  may  be  a  failure.  And  at  present  I  do  not 
feel  as  if  I  should  ever  have  any  ideas  ag-ain.    My  brain  seems  so 


wearv. 


"      "Perhaps,"  whispered  Katherine,  "  you  may  be  able  to  rest.   You 
are  looking  very  tired  and  ill." 

Somewhat  to  her  ovm  surprise,  Katherine  slept  profoundly  that 
nig-ht.  The  delicious  sense  of  comfort  and  security  which  her 
mother's  presence  broug-ht  soothed  her  ineffablv.  It  seemed  as  if 
no  harm  could  touch  her  while  she  felt  the  clasp  of  those  dear  arms. 

The  early  forenoon  broug-ht  Mr.  Newton,  and  after  a  little  pre- 
liminary talk  respecting  the  arrangements  he  had  made  for  the 
funeral,  he  proposed  to  look  for  the  will  which  he  had  drawn  up 
some  years  before,  and  which,  to  the  best  of  his  recollection,  Mr. 
Liddell  had  taken  charge  of  himself. 

"  Might  you  not  wait  until  the  poor  old  man  is  laid  in  his  last 
home?"  asked  Mrs.  Liddell. 

''Perhapsit  would  be  more  seemly,"  said  the  lawver  ;  "but  it  is 
almost  necessary  to  know  who  is  the  heir  and  who  is  the  executor, 
Besides,  it  is  quite  possible  that  since  he  sig-ned  the  will  I  drew  up 
for  him  in  '59,  and  to  which  I  was  executor,  he  mav  have  made 
ano'her,  of  which  I  know  nothing-,  and  I  mav  have  to  "^communicate 
with  some  other  executor.  I  will  therefore  begin  the  search  at  onc6. 
Would  you  and  .your  daug-hter  like  to  be  present?" 

"Thank  you,  ho,"  returned  Mrs.  Liddell. 

"I  would  rather  not,"  said  Katherine. 

Mr.  Newton  proceeded  on  his  search  alone,  while  Mrs.  Liddell  and 
her  daug-hter  went  to  the  latter's  room,  anxious  to  keep  from  med- 
dling- with  what  did  not  concern  them. 

Scarcely  had  the  former  settled  herself  to  write  a  letter  to  an  old 
friend  in  Florence  with  whom  she  kept  up  a  steady  thoug-h  not  a 
frequsnt  correspondence,  when  she  was  interrupted  by  a  tap  at  the 
door.  Before  she  could  .say  "  Come  in,"  it  was  opened  to  admit  Mrs. 
Frederic  Liddell,  who  came  in  briskly.  She  had  taken  out  a  black 
dress  with  crape  on  it,  and  retouched  a  mourning-  bonnet,  so  that 
she  presented  an  appearance  perfectly  suited  to  the  occasion. 

"  Oh  dear  !"  she  cried,  "  I  have  been  in  such  a  state  ever  since  I 
had  your  note !  I  thoug-ht  1  should  never  get  away  this  mornino-. 
The  stupidity  of  those  servants  is  beyond  description.  Now  do  tell 
all  aboxit  everything'."  She  sat  down  suddenly,  then  jumped  up 
kissed  her  mother-in-law  on  the  brow,  and  shook  hands  with  Kath- 
erine. 

"  There  is  very  little  more  to  tell  beyond  what  I  said  in  my  note  " 
returnexi  Mrs.  Liddell.  "  The  poor  old  man  never  spoke  or'  showed 
any  symptou  of  life  after  he  fell.    Mr.  Newton,  of  course,  will  ui!^k& 


86  A  CROOKED  PATa 

4^V^vrang■ements.  The  funeral  will  be  on  Friday,  and  Katherine 
K..vi  1  will  remain  here  till  it  is  over." 

"And  the  will?" -vvhisjx'rcd  ?rvs.  Frederic,  eagerly.  "Have  you 
found  out  anything  about  tin     " 

Mrs.  Liddt'll  shook  her  h,  {.o.  "I  have  not  even  asked,  so  sure 
am  I  that  it  \\ill  not  affect  us  in  any  way.  Mr.  Newton  is  now  ex- 
amining-the  bureau  where  my  brothL'r-in-law  appears  to  have  kept 
all  his  papers,  hoping  to  lind  the  will." 

"  Is  it  not  cruel  to  think  of  all  this  wealth  i)assing  away  from  us  ?" 
cried  the  little  woman,  in  a  tearful  tone. 

"I  do  not  suppose  that  John  Liddell  w^as  wealthy,"  said  Mrs. 
Liddell.  "He  was  veiy  careful  of  what  he  had,  but  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  he  had  a  great  deal." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  .'  My  dear  Mrs.  Liddell,  j^ou  only  say  that  to  keep 
us  quiet.  Misers  always  have  heaps  of  money.  What  do  you  say, 
Katherine  ?" 

"That  from  all  I  saw  I  should  say  he  was  not  rich.  He  never 
mentioned  large  sums  of  money,  or — " 

"I  do  not  mnid  you,"  interrupted  the  young  widow.  "  Youalways 
affect  to  despise  money." 

"  Indeed  I  do  not,  Ada.  I  am  only  afraid  of  thinking  too  much  of 
it."  Katherine  perceived  that  her  mother  had  wisely  abstained 
from  telling  the  whole  circumstances  to  this  most  impulsive  young 
person. 

"And  do  you  mean  to  say,"  pursued  Mrs.  Frederic,  who  could 
hardly  keep  still,  so  great  was  ner  excitement,  "that  the  horrid 
lawyer  is  rummaging  through  the  old  man's  papers  all  alone?  You 
ought  to  be  present,  Mrs.  Liddell.  You  don't  know  'w  hat  tricks  he 
may  play.  He  may  put  a  will  in  his  own  faA'or  in  some  drawer. 
It  is  very  weak  not  to  have  insisted  on  being  present,  and  shows 
such  indifference  to  our  interests  !" 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  Mr.  Newton  forging  a  will,"  said  Mrs.  Lid- 
dell, smiling  ;  "and  I  greatly  fear  that  whoever  may  proHt  by  the 
old  man's  last  testament,  we  will  not.  But  I  assure  "you  Mr.  New- 
ton did  ask  me  to  assist  in  the  search,  and  I  declined.  Indeed  I 
asked  him  not  to  search  while  the  poor  remains  were  unburied." 

"  Why,  my  goodness  !  you  do  not  mean  to  say  you  are  pretending 
to  be  son-)/  for  this  rude—miser  !"  cried  Mrs.  Frederic,  with  uplifted 
hand  and  eyes. 

"  Personally  I  did  not  care  about  him,  but,  Ada,  death  demands 
respect. " 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course.  Then  there  is  absolutely  nothing  to  do  or 
to  hear." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Katherine,  rather  shortly. 

"  Could  I  go  out  and  buy  anything  for  you  ?  Surely  the  executors, 
whoever  they  may  be,  wiil  give  you  some  money  for  mourning  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  it  at  all  likelv.  I  will  tell  you  what  you  can  do, 
Ada:  go  to  my  large  ciipboard^  and  bring  me,"  etc.,  etc. — sundry 
directions  followed.  "  Katherine  and  I  can  quite  well  do  all  that 
is  necessary  ourselves  to  make  a  proper  appearance  on  Friday." 

•'  Very  well ;  and  I  will  come  to  the  funeral  too,  and  bring  the 
boys.    A  little  crape  on  their  caps  and  sleeves  will  be  quite  enough. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  SY 

Thev  will  produce  a  great  effect.  I  dare  say  if  I  speak  to  Mrs.  Bur- 
nett's friend,  that  newspaper  man,  he  will  put  an  account  into  the 
Morning  News,  with  all  our  names.  Whatever  comes,  it  would 
have  a  arood  effect."  .  j     ,    i.  x         u       ^ 

"Of  course  vou  can  come  if  you  like,  Ada,  but  I  would  not 
bring  the  boys.    Children  are  out  of  place  except  at  a  parent  s 

^"^•^  Well,  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  and  I  do  not  think  you  need 
e-rudffe  mv  ix»or  children  that  much  recognition." 

"  Poor  darlings  !  Do  you  believe  we  could  grudge  them  anything 
that  was  good  for  them  T'  cried  Katherine. 

"Oh  there  is  no  knowing  !  Pray  is  there  any  plate  in  the  house, 
Katherine,  or  diamonds?  You  know  the  nephew's  wife  ought  to  have 

the  diamonds !"  ,     .  ,        ,  .,    .,  •    i   •      .1     j  m 

"  Do  not  make  me  laugh,  Ada,  while  the  poor  man  is  lying  dead !" 

exclaimed  Katherine,  smiling.    "The  idea  of  plate  or  diamonds  in 

this  house  is  too  funny  !"  .     o^  «•  1  j  .^.j       1    j  u 

"Then  are  the  spoons  and  forks  only  Sheffield  ware?    asked  her 

sister-in-law.     "How  mean!"  ■       .,        r.    a  ^    a 

After  a  "-ood  deal  more  cross-examination  Mrs.  Fred  rose  to  de- 
part, her  pretty  childish  face  clouded,  not  to  say  very  cross. 

"i  might  have  saved  myself  the  trouble  of  coming  here,    she 

"  We  are  very  glad  to  see  you,  and  it  will  be  a  great  help  if  you 
cansendor  bring  the  things  I  want."  ,     •    , ,     ,r     xt     , 

"Perhaps  if  I  wait  a  little  longer,  this  admirable  Mr.  Newton 
may  find  something,"  resumed  Mrs.  Fred,  pausing,   and  reluctant 

"  If  he  does  1  will  let  vou  know  immediately,"  said  Katherine; 
"  but  there  are  numbers''of  little  drawers  in  the  bureau  ;  it  will  take 
him  a  long  time  to  look  through  tham  all."  ^^      „     ,  ... 

"  Have  vou  seen  the  inside  of  it.-'"  asked  Mrs.  Fred,  greedily. 

"  I  have  seen  mv  uncle  writing  at  it,"  returned  Katherine  ;  "but 
I  never  had  an  op"portunity  of  examining  it  " 

"  Well  I  suppose  I  had  better  go.  1  am  evidently  not  wanted 
her-^  '"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Frederic,  longing  to  quarrel  with  some  one, 
beiivMn  that  condition  of  mind  aptly  described  as  "not  knowing 
whartobeat  "  Finding  no  help  from  her  auditors,  she  went  re- 
luct ntiv  away  .,       ,      .        •     .•      .. 

"  1  wish  poor  Ada  would  not  allow  her  imagination  to  run  away 
with  her     It  will  be  such  a  disappointment  when  she  finds  it  is  all, 
much  ado  about  nothing,"  said  Mrs  Liddell,  as  she  returned  to  her 
letter      "  1  am  afraid,  Katie  dear,  you  have  had  a  great  shock  ;  you 
do  not  look  a  bit  like  yourself."  i     ,    „   u       11     •   uw 

"  I  feel  dazed  and  stupid,  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  all  right  to- 
morrow "  She  took  a  book  and  pretended  to  read,  while  her  mother's 
pen  scratched  lightlv  and  quickly  over  the  paper 

The  lif'-ht  was  beginning  to  change,  when  a  message  from  Mr. 
Newton  Summoned  both  mother  and  daughter  to  the  sitting-room, 
where  they  found  him  awaitin^r  them. 

"I have  looked  most  carefully  through  the  bureau,  and  can  find 
no  sign  of  the  wilL    There  are  various  papers  and  account-books,  9, 


8&  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

very  clear  statement  of  his  affairs,  and  about  a  hundred  and  fif- 
teen pounds  of  ready  money,  but  no  will.  I  have  also  looked  in 
his  writing-table  drawer,  his  wardrobe,  and  every  possible  and  im- 
possible place.  It  may  be  at  my  office,  though  I  am  under  the  im- 
pression ne  took  charge  of  it  himself.  There  is  a  possibility  he  may 
nave  deposited  it  at  his  banker's  or  his  stock-brokers,  though  that 
is  not  probable." 

"It  is  curious,"  remarked  Mrs.  Liddell,  feeling  she  must  say 
something. 

" Pray,"  resumed  Newton,  addressing  Katherine,  "have  youever 
seen  him  tearing  up  or  burning  papers;"' 

She  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  quietly,  "No,  I  never 
have." 

"  I  can  do  no  more  here,  at  least  to-day,"  Newton  went  on.  "  I 
must  bid  you  a  good -afternoon.  You  may  be  sure  I  will  leave 
nothing  undone  to  discover  the  missing  will,  and  I  can  only  say  I 
earnestly  hope  I  may  not  be  successful." 


CHAPTER  X. 

"fruition." 

The  funeral  over,  Mrs.  Liddell  and  her  daughter  went  back  to  their 
modest  home,  feeling  as  though  they  had  passed  through  some 
strange  dream,  which  had  vanished,  leaving  "not  a  wrack 
behind." 

To  Katherine  it  was  like  fresh  life  to  return  to  the  natural  cheer- 
ful routine  of  her  daily  cares  and  employments,  to  strug^-je  good- 
humoredly  with  indifferent  servants,  to  do  battle  with  ner  little 
nephews  over  their  lessons,  to  walk  with  them  and  tell  them  stories. 
At  times  she  almost  forgot  that  the  diligently  sought  will  lay  in  its 
innocent-looking  cover  among  her  clothes,  or  that  any  results  would 
how  from  her  daring  and  criminal  act ;  then  again  the  consciousness 
of  having  weighted  her  life  with  a  secret  she  must  never  reveal 
would  press  pamfuJly  upon  her,  and  make  her  greedy  for  the  moment 
when  Mr.  Newton  would  relinquish  the  searcli,  and  she  should  reap 
the  harvest  she  exp{;cted. 

She  never  believed  that  her  uncle  was  as  rich  as  Ada  supposed, 
but  she  did  hope  for  a  smaTl  fortune  which  might  secure  comfort 
and  ease. 

Mrs.  Frederic  Liddell  was  a  real  a'fliction  during  this  period.  The 
idea  of  inheriting  John  r^ldcH's  supposed  wealth  was  never  absent 
from  her  thoughts,  and  seldom  from  her  lips.  Even  the  boys  were 
infected  by  her  gorgeous  anticipations. 

"  I  shall  have  apony  like  that,  and  a  groom  to  ride  beside  me." 
Cecil  would  cry  when  his  attention  was  caught  by  any  3'oung  eques- 
trian. "And  I  will  give  you  a  ride,  auntie.  Shall  you  have  a  car- 
riage too,  or  will  you  drive  with  mammy  ?" 

"  And  I  shall  have  a  beautiful  do":,  like  Mrs.  Burnett's,  and  a 
garden  aAvay  in  the  country,"  was  Charlie's  scheme.  "You  shall 
come  and  dig  in  it,  auutie." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  89 

"Do  not  think  of  such  thing-s,  my  de.^rs,"  was  auntie's  usual 
reply.  "I  am  afraid  we  shall  never  Lv  any  ridi.-r  than  we  are  ;  so 
you  must  be  diligent  boys,  and  work  hard  to  make  fortunes  for  your- 
selves." 

"  Where  did  Uncle  Liddell  keep  all  his  money  ?"  was  one  of  Cecil's 
questions  in  reply.  " Did  he  keep  it  in  bi^  ba^-s  down-stairs?  He 
hadn't  a  nice  house  ;  it  was  quite  a  nasty  one." 

"  Had  he  a  big-  place  in  a  cave,  with  tr  es  that  grow  rubies  and 
diamonds  and  beautiful  things?''  added  Charlie. 

"Why  doesn't  mamma  buy  us  some  ponies  now?"  continued Cis  ; 
"we  should  be  sometime  learning  to  ride." 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  you  any  more  if  you  talk  so  foolishly.  Try 
and  think  of  something  els^— of  the  Christmas  pantomime.  You 
know  grannie  says  you  shall  go  if  you  do  your  lessons  well,"  re- 
turned Karherine. 

"It  isn't  silly!"  exclaimed  Cecil.  "Mammy  tells  us  we  must 
take  care  of  her  when  we  are  rich  men,  and  that  we  shall  be  able 
to  hold  up  our  heads  as  high  as  any  one.  /  can  hold  up  my  head 
now." 

Such  conversations  were  of  frequent  occurrence,  and  kept  Katherine 
in  a  state  of  mental  irritation. 

Toward  the  end  of  October  Mrs.  Burnett  brought  relief  in  the 
shape  of  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Frederic. 

The  Burnett  family  were  spending  the  "  dark  days  before  Christ- 
mas" at  Brighton,  "and  thither  hied  the  lively  young  widow  in 
great  glee.  Things  g^'uerally  went  smoother  in  her  absence  ;  the 
boys  were  more  obedient,  the  meals  more  punctual. 

Nevertheless  Katherine  observed  that  her  mother  did  not  settle  to 
her  writing  as  usual.  Occasionally  she  shut  herself  up  in  the  study, 
but  when  Katherine  came  in  unexpectedly  she  generally  found  her 
resting  her  elbow  on  the  table  and  her  head  on  her  hand,  gating  at 
the  blank  sheet  before  her,  or  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  evidently 
lost  in  thought. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  take  much  to  your  writing,  mother  dear," 
said  Katherine  one  mornitj  as  she  entered  and  sat  down  on  a  stool 
beside  her. 

"  In  truth  I  cannot,  Katie.  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  no  plots 
will  come.  I  have  generally  been  able  to  devise  something  on  which 
to  hang  my  characters  and  events  ;  but  my  invention,  such  as  it  is 
—or  rather  was— ssems  dried  up  and  witherexl.  What  shall  I  do  if 
my  slight  vein  is  exhausted.''  Heaven  knows  I  produced  nothing 
very  ori^-inal  or  remarlcable,  but  my  lifcul)rations  were  saleable, 
and  I  do  not  see  how  wo  can  do  without  this  source  of 
income." 

"  You  only  want  rest,"  returned  Katherine,  taking  her  hand  and 
laying  her  cheek  against  it.  "  Your  fancy  wants  a  quiet  sleep,  and 
then  it  will  v/ake  up  fresh  and  briglit.  Take  a  holiday  ;  put  away 
pen,  ink,  and  paper  ;  and  you  will  be  able  to  write  a  lovely  story 
long  before  the  money  we  exp?-ct  for  your  novel  is  expcMided." 

"I  hope  so."  She  paused,  and  thou  resumed,  with  a  sigh:  "I 
ought  to  have  more  sense  and  self-control  at  my  age,  but  I  confess 
that  the  uncertainty  about  John  Liddell's  will  absorbs  me.    Suppose, 


90  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Katie,  that  his  money  were  to  come  to  you.  Imagine  you  and  I 
rich  enou^-h  not  to  be  afraid  of  the  week  after  next !  Why,  our 
lives  would  be  too  blissful." 

" Thov  would,"  murmured  Katherine.  "  When  do  you  think  we 
shall  know?" 

"  I  cannot  t^ll.  All  possible  search  must  be  made  before  the  law 
can  be  satisfied.  My  own  impression  is  that  your  uncle  did  de- 
stroy his  will,  intending  to  make  a  different  distribution  of  his 
money,  and  to  provide  for  you." 

"  YV.s,  I  believe  he  did,"  said  Katherine,  quietly.  "I  wish — oh,  I 
do  wish  my  uncle  had  had  time  to  divide  his  property  betwe-en  us 
all ;  then  there  would  be  no  ill  feeling.  But  I  suppose  Cis  and 
Charlie  will  get  some,  even  if  no  will  is  found?" 

"  I  have  no  idea.  If  poor  Fred  had  lived,  I  suppose  he  would  take 
a  share." 

They  sat  silent  for  some  minutes.  Then  Kate  rose  and  very  de- 
libaratcly  shut  up  her  mother's  writing-book,  collected  her  papers 
and  rough  note-book,  and  locked  them  away  in  her  drawer.  "Now, 
dearest  mother,"  she  said,  "  promise  me  not  to  open  that  drawer  for 
ten  days  at  least,  unless  a  very  strong  inspiration  comes  to  you.  By 
that  time  we  may  know  something  certain  about  the  will,  and  at 
any  rate  you  will  have  had  change  of  occupation.  Then  put  on  your 
bonnet  and  let  us  go  to  see  our  friend  Mrs.  Wray.  Perhaps  she 
may  let  us  see  her  husband's  studio,  and  if  he  is  there  we  are 
sure  to  have  some  interesting  talk.  We  both  sorely  need  a  change 
of  ideas." 

Mrs.  Frederic  Liddell  returned  from  Brighton  in  a  very  thought- 
ful mood.  Sh3  said  she  had  had  a  "heavenly  visit."  Such  nice 
weather — such  a  contrast  to  dirty,  dreary,  depressing  London  !  She 
had  met  several  old  acquaintances,  they  had  had  company  every 
night,  and  had  she  only  nad  a  third  evening  dress  her  bliss  woulH 
have  been  complete.  As  it  was,  a  slight  sense  of  inferiority  had 
taken  the  keen  edge  off  her  joy.  "At  any  rate,  the  men  didn't  seem 
to  think  there  was  much  amiss  with  me.  Sir  Ralph  Brereton  and 
Colonel  Ormonde  were  really  quite  troublesome.  I  do  not  much 
like  Sir  Ralph.  I  never  know  if  he  is  laughing  at  me  or  not,  though 
I  am  sure  I  do  not  think  thcreis  anything  to  laugh  at  in  me.  Colonel 
Ormonde  is  so  kind  and  sensible  !  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Liddell,  he 
a.iys  /  ought  to  see  Mr.  Newton  myself,  to  look  after  the  interests  of 
my  darling  bojs,  and — and  ti-y  to  ascertain  the  true  state  of  affairs. 
TAat  is  what  Colonel  Ormonde  says,  and  I  suppose  you  wouldn't 
mind.  Mrs.  Liddell?"  she  ended,  in  a  rather  .supplicating  tone:  for 
she  was  just  a  li:tle  in  awe  of  her  mother  in-law,  kind  and  indulgent 
though  she  was. 

"  Go  and  see  Mr.  Newton  by  all  means,  Ada,  if  you  feel  it  would 
be  any  satisfaction  to  you  ;  but  until  the  right  time  comes  it  will  be 
very  useless  to  malce  any  inquiries.  We  leave  it  all  to  Mr. 
Newton." 

"  Oh,  you  and  Katherine  are  so  cold  and  immovable  ;  vou  are  not 
a  bit  like  me.  I  am  all  sensitiveness  and  impulse.  Well,  if  it  is 
not  raining  cats  a:  d  dogs  I  will  go  into  that  awful  City  and  see  Mr. 
Newton  to-morrow." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  M 

"Would  lie  not  be  well  to  make  an  appointment?" 
"  Oh  dear  no  !    I  will  take  my  chance  ;  I  would  not  write.    Katie 
dear,  I  have  torn  all  the  flounce  ott"  my  black  and  white  dinner 
dress ;  you  are  so  much  more  clever  with  your  needle  than  I  am, 
would  you  sew  it  on  for  me  to-morrow?" 

"  No,  I  cannot,  Ada— not  to-morrow  at  least.  I  am  busy  altering' 
mother's  winter  cloak,  and  she  has  nothing-  warm  to  put  on  until  it 
is  finished.  I  will  show  you  how  to  arrange  the  flounce,  and  you 
will  soon  do  it  yourself  ii  you  try." 

"  Very  well " — rather  sulkily.  "  I  am  sure  I  was  intended  to  be  a 
rich  man's  wife,  I  am  so  helple.ss." 

"  And  I  am  sure  I  was  born  under  *  a  three-half -penny  constella- 
tion,' as  L.  E.  L.  said,  for  I  rather  like  helping  myself^"  returned 
Katherine,  laughing.  "  Only  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  ex- 
terior help  besides." 

"  Do  you  know,  Katherine,  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  proud.  I 
believe  you  think  yourself  the  cleverest  girl  in  the  world." 

"  I  should  be  much  happier  if  I  did,"  said  Katherine,  good-humor- 
edly.  "Don't  be  a  goose,  Ada  ;  let  my  disposition  alone.  I  am 
afraid  it  is  too  decidedh'-  formed  to  be  altered.' 

"Colonel  Ormonde  was  asking  for  you,"  r;>snmed  Mrs.  Frederic, 
fearing  she  had  allowed  her  temper  too  much  i-lay.  "He  is  quite 
an  admirer  of  yours." 

"lam  much  obliged  to  him.  Would  you  like  to  come  to  the 
theatre  to-night  ?  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wray  have  a  Itox  at  the  Ad;!]phi, 
and  have  offered  us  two  places.  My  mother  thought  you  might  like 
to  go." 

"  With  the  Wrays?  No,  thank  you.  I  never  seem  to  get  on  with 
them  ;  and  if  Colonel  Ormonde  happens  to  be  there  (and  he  might, 
for  he  is  in  town  to-day),  I  should  not  care  to  be  seen  with  thorn  ; 
they  are  not  at  all  in  s^ociety,  you  know." 

""True,"  said  Katherine,  with  perfect  equanimity.  "Then,  dear 
mother,  do  come.  Nothing  takes  you  out  of  yourself  so  much  as  a 
good  play.    I  shall  enpy  it  more  if  you  are  with  us." 

After  a  little  di.°.cussion  Mrs.  Liddell  agreed  to  go,  and  Mrs.  Fred- 
eric retired  to  unpack,  and  to  see  what  repairs  were  necessary,  in  a 
somewhat  sulky  mood. 

The  following  morning  Mrs.  Liddell's  head  was  aching  so  severely 
that  her  daughter  would  not  allow  her  to  get  up.  She  therefore  gave 
her  sister-in  laAv  an  early  luncheon,  and  saw  her  set  forth  on  her  vi.'jit 
to  Mr.  Newton.  She  was  a  little  nervous  about  it ;  she  wished  Kath- 
erine to  go  with  her,  and  yet  she  did  not  wish  it. 

Sh3  attired  herself  completely  in  black,  and  managed  to  give  a 
mournful  "distressed  widow"  aspect  to  her  toilette:  thj  litMa 
woman  was  an  artist  in  her  way,  so  long  as  her  subject  was  self  and 
its  advantages.  Then  Katherine  devoted  herself  to  her  mother,  who 
had  taken  a  chill.  It  grieved  her  to  see  how  the  slightest  indisposi- 
tion preyed  upon  her  strength. 

The  period  of  waiting  was  terribly  long  and  wearing.  Had  she. 
after  all,  committed  herself  to  an  ever-gnawing  loss  of  self-resp.'ct  to 
enrich  another  ?  Katherine  asked  herself  this  question  more  than 
once. 


92  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

She  had  refrained  from  troubling-  Mr.  Newton  with  fruitless  ques- 
tions or  impatient  expressions,  and  her  mother  admired  her  forbear- 
ance. But  in  truth  Catherine  hated  to  approach  the  subject  of  her 
possible  inheritance,  thoug-h  she  never  faltered  in  her  purpose  of 
Keeping"  the  existenw  of  her  uncle's  will  a  profound  secret. 

Mrs.  f  rederic  Liddell  returned  from  her  visit  to  the  friendly  law- 
yer rather  sooner  than  Ka'therine  expected. 

The  moment  she  entered  the  drawiug'-roo^i,  where  the  latter  was 
dusting"  the  few  china  and  other  ornaments,  ner  countenance  evinced 
unusual  disturbance. 

"I  am  sure,"  she  beg"an,  in  a  very  hig-h  key,  "if  I  had  known 
what  I  was  g'oin^'  to  encounter,  I  should  have  stayed  at  home. 
There's  no  justice  in  this  world  for  the  widow  and  the  fatherless." 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  Mr.  Newton  could  be  rude  or  unkind  !"  ex- 
claimed Katherine,  much  startled. 

"I  do  not  say  he  was,"  returned  Mrs.  Fred,  snappishly.  "But 
either  he  is  a  stupid  old  idiot,  or  he  has  been  telling'  me  abominable 
stories.  I  don't — I  can't  believe  them  !  Do  you  know  he  says  he, 
they,  all  the  old  rogues  tog-ether,  believe  that  wretched  miser  had 
destroyed  his  will  and  died  intestate,  and  that  every  penny  will  be 
yours";  not  a  sou  comes  to  the  widow  and  children  of  the  nephew. 
It  is  preposterous.  It  is  the  most  monstrous  injustice.  If  it  is  law, 
an  act  of  Parliament  oug-ht  to  be  passed  to— to  do  away  with  it. 
Faiicy  your  having  everything-,  and  me,  my  boys  and  myself,  de- 
pendent on  you  .'" — scornful  emphasis  on  "you."" 

"Is  this  possible?"  exclaimed  Katherine,  dropping  her  duster  in 
dismay.  "  I  thought  that  the  property  would  be  divided  between 
the  boys  and  myself." 

"  W  hv,  that  "is  only  common-sense!  If  you  do  get  everything 
you  will  be  well  rewarded  for  your  three  months'  penal  servitude. 
You  Knew  what  you  were  about,  though  you  do  despise  rank  and 
riches. " 

"  But,  Ada,  I  suppose  my  uncle  would  have  destroyed  his  will 
whether  I  had  been  there  or  not." 

"  No.  Mr.  Newton's  idea  is  that  he  intended  to  make  a  new  will, 
probably  leaving  you  a  large  sum,  and  so  destroyed  tha  old  one. 
Mr.  Newton  thinks  he  grew  to  like  you.  Oh  !  you  pla^-ed  your  cards 
well !  But  it  is  too  hard  to  think  3'ou  cut  out  my  dar-arling  boys," 
she  ended,  with  a  sob. 

Katherine  grew  very  white ;  this  outburst  of  fury  rou.sed  her  con- 
science. She  pulled  herself  tog.!ther  in  an  instant  of  quick  thought, 
however.  "This  is  folly.  What  i  have  done  will  benefit  the  boys 
more  than  myself,"  she  reflected. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  your  being  vexed,  Ada,"  she  said,  gently. 
"  But  fortunately  one  is  not  compelled  to  act  according  to  law.  If 
the  whole  of  the  "fortune,  whatever  it  may  be,  becomes  mine,  do  yon 
think  I  would  keep  it  all  to  mys:'.lf  ?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  "  said  Mrs.  Frederic,  who  had  now  sub- 
sided into  the  .sulks.  "  When  pjople  get  hold  of  money  they  seldom 
like  to  part  with  it ;  and  I  know  you  do  not  like  »ie  ?" 

"  W^hv  should  vou  think  so,  Ada .-'  We  may  not  agree  in  our 
tastes,  but  that  is  no  reason  for  dislike  ;  and  you  know  how  glad  I 
am  to  be  of  use  to  you,  both  for  your  own  sake  and  poor  Fred's." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  93 

"  Well,  I  would  rather  not  be  dependent  on  you  or  any  one.  But 
there  !  I  do  not  believe  what  that  stupid  old  man  says— I  do  not 
behjve  such  a  horrible  law  exists.  I  shall  write  and  consult  Col- 
onel Ormonde,  and  find  out  if  I  could  not  dispute  the  will— no,  not 
the  will— the  property.    I  should  not  like  to  give  up  mv  rig-hts." 

''Phrase,  Ada,  do  not  sixiak  so  loudly.  Mv  mother  had  just  fallen 
askwp  before  you  came  in  ;  and  she  had  such  a  bad  nig'ht  1 " 

"Loud?  I  am  not  talking- loudly.  You  mean  to  insinuate  I  am 
m  a  passion  ?  I  am^nothing-  of  the  kind.  I  am  perfectly  cool,  but 
determined -determined  to  have  justice,  and  my  fair  share  of  this 
man's  wealth  ! " 

"  It  may  not  be  wealth  ;  it  may  be  only  competence,  and  it  is  not 
ours  to  share  yet." 

"Not  yours"  vou  mean  ;  thai;  is  what  you  thought,  Katherine. 
And  as  to  wealth,  I  believe  that  cruel  old  miser  was  ewo/  mously 
rich  !    Where  are  the  boys?" 

' '  Out  walking-  with  Lottie.  I  am  so  glad  they  were  not  in  to  hear 
all  this  !  Do  not  talk  to  them  of  being  rich,  dear  Ada  ;  it  puts  un- 
healthy ideas  into  their  minds,  and—" 

"Upon  my  word  !  I  like  to  hear  you,  a  mere  girl,  not  quite 
nineteen  yet,  advising  me,  a  mother,  a  married  woman,  about  my 
own  children.  You  need  not  presume  on  vour  expected  riches.  I'll 
never  play  the  part  of  a  poor  relation,  and  submit  to  be  lectured  by 
j/ot<." 

Her  sister-in-law's  stings  and  passing  fits  of  ill-humor  never  irri- 
tated Katherine  unless  they  worried  her  mother,  nor  did  this  most 
unwonted  outburst  of  irrepressible  indignation,  but  it  distressed  her. 
"Come,  Ada,  don't  be  cross,"  she  said.  "  It  was  perhaps  want  of 
tact  in  me  to  suggest  anything,  though  my  idea  is  right  enough.  It 
is  quite  natural  that  vou  should  be  awfully  vexed.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Newton  is  wrong ;  at  all  events,  if  the  law  is' unjust,  /need  not  act 
unjustly,  and  believe  me,  I  tviU  not." 

"I  hope  not,"  returned  the  young  widow,  a  little  mollified.  "I 
always  believe  you  haven't  a  bad  heart,  Katherine,  though  you  have 
a  disagreeble  sullen  temper.  Now  I  am  too  oi^en  ;  you  see  the  worst 
of  me  at  once  ;  but  I  do  not  remember  unkinaness  ;  and  if  you  do 
what  is  right  in  this,  I— I  shall  always  speak  of  you  as  you  d''S3rve. 
Do  get  me  something  to  eat ;  I  am  awfully  hungry,  and  though  I 
hate  beer,  I  will  take  some  ;  it  is  better  than  nothing.  How  i/ou 
go  on  on  water  I  cannot  imagine  ;  it  will  ruin  your  digestion." 

So  they  went  amicably  enough  into  the  dining-room  together,  one 
to  be  ministered  to,  the  other  to  minister. 

Here  the  boys  joined  them  ;  but  for  a  wonder  their  mother  was 
silent  respecting  her  visit  to  the  lav/yer,  and  soon  went  awav  to 
write  to  Colonel  Ormonde,  on  whom  she  had  conferred,  unasked,  the 
office  of  prime  counsellor  and  referee.  This  opened  up  a  splendid 
field  for  letters  full  of  flattering  api^ealstohis  wisdom  and  judgment, 
and  touching  little  confessions  of  her  own  weakness,  folly,  and  need 
for  guidance. 

"  Dear  Miss  Liddell,— I  should  be  glad  if  you  could  call  on 
Tuesday  next  about  one  o'clock.    I  have  various  documents  to  show 


H  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

you,  or  I  should  not  g-ive  you  the  trouble  to  come  here.  If  Mi's, 
liiddell  is  disciig-aged  and  could  come  also  it  would  be  well.  I  am 
yours  faithfully,    A.  Newton." 

Such  was  the  letter  which  the  first  post  broug'ht  to  Katherine 
about  six  weeks  after  the  death  of  John  Liddell. 

Katherine,  who  always  rose  and  dressed  rirst,  found  it  on  the  table 
whtiii  she  went  down  to  g-ive  the  bovs  their  breakfast,  to  coax  the 
lire  to  burn  up  brightly  if  it  was  inclined  to  be  sulky,  and  to  make 
the  cotfec  for  her  mother  and  Mrs.  Fred. 

As  soon  as  she  had  seen  the  two  little  men  at  work  on  their  bread 
and  milk  she  flew  back  to  her  mother. 

"Do  read  this !  Do  you  think  that  Mr.  Newton  wants  me  because  I 
am  to  have  my  uncle's  money  at  last?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  There  can  be  no  other  reason  for  his  wishing-  to  see 
you,  deai-est  child.  What  a  wonderful  change  it  will  make  if  this  is 
the  case  !  I  can  then  cease  to  mourn  the  failure  of  niv  poor  powers, 
and  let  the  publishers  g-o  free.  My  love,  I  did  not  tliink  anything- 
could  affect  you  so  much.    You  are  white  and  trembling-." 

"I  have  been  more  anxious  than  you  knew,"  retui-ned  Katherine, 
who  felt  strang-ely  overcome,  curiously  terrified,  at  the  near  ap- 
proach of  success — the  success  she  had  ventured  on  so  daring-  an  act 
to  secure.  "  I  greatly  feared  some  other  claimant — some  other  will, 
I  mean— might  be  found." 

"  Yes,  I  feared  too.  Yet  there  could  be  no  claimant,  apart  from 
another  will.  Poor  Georg-e,  your  uncle's  only  son,  was  killed,  I 
remember.  Take  a  little  water,  dear,  and  sit  down.  No,  I  did 
not  fear  another  claimant  when  I  thought,  but  I  feared  to  hope  too 
much." 

"  I  feel  all  right  now,  mother.  Such  a  prospect  does  not  kill. 
Suppose  we  say  nothing  to  Ada— she  will  worry  our  lives  out— not 
at  least  till  we  know  our  fate  certainly  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  will  be  better  not." 

"And  whatever  I  get  we  will  share  with  tho  dear  children,  and 
give  Ada  some  too.  Oh,  darling  mother,  think  of  our  being  alone 
together  again,  and  tolerably  at  ease  !" 

It  woul  i  bo  wearisome  to  the  reader  were  the  details  of  the  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Newton  minutely  recorded. 

He  was  evidently  relieved  and  delighted  to  announce  that  all 
attempts  to  find  the  will  had  failed,  and  explained  at  some  l?,ngtli  to 
his  very  attentive  listeners  the  steps  to  be  taken  and  the  particulars 
of  the  property  bequeathed  ;  how  it  devolved  on  Katherine  to  take 
out  letters  of  administration  ;  how  at  her  age  she  had  the  power  of 
choosing-  her  own  guardian  for  the  two  years  which  must  elapse 
before  sne  was  of  ag'e  ;  and  finally  that  the  large  amount  of  which 
she  had  become  mistress  was  so  judiciously  invested  that  he  (Mr. 
Newton)  could  advise  no  change  save  the  transference  of  stock  to 
her  name. 

As  it  dawned  upon  Katherine  that  the  sum  she  inherited  amounted 
to  something  over  eighty  thous.and  pounds,  she  felt  dizzy  with  sur- 
prise and  fear.  She  haa  no  idea  she  nad  been  playing  for  such  stakes. 
The  sense  of  sudden  responsibility  pressed  upon  her;  her  hands 
trembled  and  her  cheek  paled. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  95 

"My  dear  yonng  lady,  you  look  as  if  you  had  met  a  "JSS  instead 
of  g-aining-  a  fortune,"  said  Mr.  Newton, "looking*  kindly  at  her.  "I 
have  no  doubt  you  will  make  a  good  use  of  your  money,  and  I  trust 
will  enjoy  many  happy  days." 

"  But  my  nephews,  "my  sister-in-law,  do  they  g-et  nothing?" 

"  Not  a  penny.  Of  course  you  can,  when  oi  age,  settle  some  por- 
tion upon  them." 

"  I  certainly  will ;  but  in  the  mean  time—" 

"In  the  mean  time  I  will  take  care  that  you  have  a  proper 
allowance." 

"'^^i''nnk  you,  dear  Mr.  Newton.  Do  get  me  something  big 
enouTli  to  make  us  all  comfortable,  and  I  can  share  with  Ada — 
with  Mrs.  Frederic.  I  do  so  want  to  take  mj^  mother  abroad, 
and  I  could  not  leave  Ada  and  the  bo}s  unless  they  were  well  pro- 
vided for." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy ;  the  court  will  allow  you  a  handsome  in- 
come. So'  you  must  cheer  up,  in  spite  of  the  infliction  of  a  large 
fortune,"  added  Mr.  ISewton,  with  unwonted  jocularity. 

"  Both  Katherine  and  myself  are  warmly  grateful  for  your  kind 
svmpathy,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  softly.  Then,  after  a  short  pause, 
she  atiked,  "Do you  know  what  became  of  Mr.  Liddell's  unfortunate 
wife?" 

"  She  died  eleven  or  twelve  years  ago.  The  family  of— of  the 
man  she  lived  with  had  the  audacity  to  apply  for  money,  on  account 
of  her  funeral,  I  think,  and  so  I  came  to  know  she  was  dead.  It  was 
a  sad  business.  The  poor  woman  had  a  wretched  life,  but  I  don't 
think  she  was  in  any  want." 

"I  only  asked,  because  if  she  was  in  poverty — " 

"Oh,""  interrupted  the  lawyer,  "  if  she  were  alive,  she  would 
have  her  share  of  the  estate,  as  her  marriage  was  never 
dissolved." 

A  short  pause  ensued,  and  then  Newton  dsked  if  Miss  Liddell 
would  like  some  money,  as  he  would  be  happ,y  to  draw  a  check  for 
any  sum  she  required."^  Then,  indeed,  Katherine  felt  that  her  days 
of  difficulty  were  over. 

Mrs.  Liddell  and  her  daughter  were  in  no  hurry  to  leave  their 
humble  home.  In  truth  Kathftrine  was  more  frightened  than  elated 
at  the  amount  of  property  she  had  inherited,  and  would  have  felt 
a  little  less  guilty  had  she  only  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  moderate 
competence. 

A  curious  stunned  feeling  made  her  incapable  of  her  tisual  activity 
for  the  first  few  days,  and  averse  even  to  plan  for  the  future. 

She  kept  her  sister-in-law  quiet  by  a  handsome  present  of  money 
wherewith  to  buy  a  fresh  outnt  for  "herself  and  her  boys.  Finally 
she  roused  up  sufficiently  to  persuade  Mrs.  Liddell  to  .see  an  eminent 

Shysician,  for  she  did  not  seem  to  gather  strength  as  rapidly  as  her 
aughter  expected. 

The  great  man,  after  a  careful  examination,  said  there  was  noth- 
ing very  wrong ;  the  nervous  system  seemed  to  be  a  good  deal  ex- 
hausted"!, and  the  bronchial  attack  of  the  previous  year  had  left  the 
lungs  delicate,  but  that  with  care  she  might  live  to  old  age. 


96  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

He  directed,  however,  that  Mrs.  Liddell  should  go  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible to  a  southern  climate.  He  recommended  Cannes  or  San  Remo 
—indeed  it  would  be  advisable  that  several  winters  in  future  should 
be  sjxnit  in  a  more  <4'enial  acmosijlicre  than  that  of  England. 

This  advice  exactly  suited  the  wishes  both  of  Katherine  and  her 
mother. 

How  easy  it  was  to  make  arrangements  in  their  altered  circum- 
stances !  How  magical  are  the  effects  of  money  !  How  quickly 
Katharine  grew  accustomed  to  the  unwonted  ease  of  her  present  lot ! 
/y— oh,  if— she  were  ever  found  out,  how  should  she  bear  it  ?  How 
could  she  endure  the  pinch  of  poverty,  added  to  the  poison  of  shame? 
But  tiio  iilca  that  all  this  wealth  was' really  hem  gained  on  her,  while 
her  fears  were  lulled  to  sleep  by  a  pleasant  sense  of  comfort  and 
security. 

Mrs.  Frederic  Liddell  was  a  good  deal  disturbed  on  hearing  that 
her  mothjr-in-law  was  ordered  abx'oad. 

"  Pray  what  is  to  become  of  me'^"  was  her  first  question  when 
Katherine  announced  the  doctor's  verdict.  They  were  sitting  over 
the  lire  in  the  drawing-room,  after  the  boys  had  said  good-night. 

"  Would  you  prefer  staying  in  England?"  asked  Mrs.  Liddell. 

"For  some  reasons  I  should,  but  you  know  I  must  have  something 
to  live  on." 

"I  know  that,"  returned  Katherine.  "As  I  cannot  execute  any 
any  deed  of  gift  for  two  years,  I  think  J  had  better  give  you  an 
allowance  for  yourself  and  the  boys,  and  let  you  do  as  you  like.  I 
have  talked  with  Mr.  Newton  about  it." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  think  it  tvould  be  the  best  plan,"  said  Mrs.  Fred- 
eric, amiably.  "I  have  not  the  least  scruple  in  taking  thj  money, 
because  you  know  it  ought  really  to  be  ours." 

"Exactly,"  returned  Katherine,  with  a  slight  smile,  and  she 
named  so  lil)eral  a  sum  that  even  Mrs.  Fred  was  satisfied. 

"  V/ell,  I  am  sure  that  is  very  nice,  dear,"  she  said  ;  "and  when 
you  are  of  age  will  you  settle  it  on  my  precious  boys?" 

"  I  will,"  replied  Katherine,  deliberately  ;  "and  I  hope  always  to 
see  a  great  deal. of  them." 

"  Of  course  you  will ;  but  you  will  not  long  be  Katherine  Liddell. 
When  Mr.  Wright  comes,  my  boys  will  get  leave  to  stay  with  their 
mother  as  much  as  they  like." 

"I  do  not  think  I  shall  easily  forget  them,  even  if  Mr.  Wright 
appeai-s,"  said  Katherine,  good-numoredly. 

"What  a  stranj^'e  girl  Katie  is!"  pursued  her  sister-in-law. 
"Was  she  never  in  love,  Mrs.  Liddell?  Had  she  never  any 
admirers?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  Ada." 

"  Oh  !  I  have  been  in  love  many  times ! "  cried  Katherine,  laugh- 
ing. "  Don't  you  remember,  mother,  the  Russian  prince  I  used  to 
dance  with  at  ?Jadame  du  Lac's  juvenile  parties?— I  made  quite  a 
romance  about  him  ;  and  that  young  Austrian— I  forget  his  name— 
whom  we  mat  at  Stuttgart,  Baron  Holdcnberg's  nephew  ;  he  was 
charming,  to  sav  nothing  of  Lohengrin  and  Tannhauser.  I  have 
quite  a  long  list  of  loves,  Ada.  Oh,  1  fthouid  like  to  dance  again  : 
To  float  round  to  the  music  of  a  delightful  Austrian  band  would  be 
charming." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  97 

"  My  dear  Katherine,  that  is  all  nonsense,  as  you  will  find  out 
one  day."  Then,  after  some  moments  of  evidently  severe  reflection, 
her  brows  knit,  and  her  soft  baby -like  lips  pr^s-i^d  tog-ether  she  said; 
"I  think  I  should  like  to  move  nearer  town,  and  ffct  a  nice  nursery 
g-overness  for  Cis  and  Charlie,  and—  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a 
g-ood  plan  ?" 

"  The  g-overness,  yes,  as  they  will  lose  their  present  one  when 
katherine  g-oes.  But  why  not  sta^' on  here  till  next  autumn,  wh6n 
the  lease  or  agreement  expires  ?  You  will  have  it  all  to  yours3lf  in 
about  ten  days,  and  it  will  be  quite  large  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Liddell. 

"  Stay  on  here !  "  began  her  daughter-in-law,  in  a  hi^-h  key,  and 
with  a  look  of  great  disgust.  She  stopped  herself  suddeiih^,  however, 
smoothed  her  brow,  and  added,  "  Well,  I  will  think  about  it,"  after 
which,  wirh  unusual  self-control,  she  changed  the  subject,  and  talked 
gravely  about  governesses,  their  salaries  and  qualifications, 
till  it  was  time  to  g'oto  bed. 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation  the  house  was  invaded  by  a 
host  of  applicants  for  the  post  of  4nstructress  to  the  two  little  boys. 
Every  shade  of  complexion,  all  possible  accomplishments,  the  most 
yarie  I  and  splendid  testimonials,  were  presente  I  to  the  bewildered 
little  widow,  in  consequence  of  her  application  to  a  governesses'  in- 
stitution. She  was  fain  to  ask  Katherine  to  help  her  in  choosing, 
much  to  the  latter's  satisfaction,  as  she  did  not  like  to  offer  assistance, 
though  she  wished  to  influence  the  choice  of  a  preceptress.  Together 
they  fixed  on  a  quiet,  kindly  looking  young  woman,  to  whom  both 
took  rather  a  fancy,  and  Katherine  felt  very  much  relieved  to  know 
that  this  important  point  was  settled. 

But  Mrs.  Frederic  did  not  seem  at  ease  ;  there  was  a  restlessness 
about  her,  a  disinclination  to  leave  the  house,  that  attracted  Kather- 
ine's  notice,  although  she  was  much  occupied  with  preparations  for 
their  departure.     At  last  the  mystery  was  solved. 

One  afternoon  Mrs.  Liddell  and  Katherine  had  been  a  good  deal 
later  than  usual  in  returning-  home,  having  determined  to  finish 
their  shopping  and  take  a  few  days'  complete  rest  before  Starting^ 
on  their  travels. 

Mrs.  Frederic  met  them  with  a  heightened  color  and  a  curious 
embarrassed  look.  The  drawing-room  was  lit  by  a  splendid  fire,  and 
sweet  with  the  perfume  of  abundant  hot-house  flowers  ;  there  was 
something  vaguely  prophetic  in  the  air. 

"Do  come  to  the  fire,  dear  Mrs.  Liddell;  you  must  be  so  cold! 
I  have  been  quite  uneasy  about  you,"  she  exclaimed,  effusively. 

"Have  you  had  a  visitor,  Adai"'  asked  Katherine,  whose  sus- 
picions were  aroused. 

"  I  have,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  am  far  too  candid 
to  keep  anvthing  from  those  I  love.  My  visitor  was  Colonel 
Ormonde.  He  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and— and,  dear  Mrs.  Liddell 
— Kath 'rine— I  hope  you  will  not  be  offended,  but  I— I  said  I 
would,"  burst  forth  Mrs.  Frederic  ;  and  then  she  burst  into  tears. 

There  Avas  a  minute's  silence.  Katherine  flushed  crimson,  and 
did  not  speak,  but  Mrs.  Liddell  said,  kindly  :  "My  dear  Ada,  if  you 
think  Colonel  Ormonde  will  make  you  happy  aiid  be  kind  to  tij^ 


98  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

boys,  you  are  quite  riffht.  I  never  expected  a  young  creature  like 
you  to  live  alone  for  the  rest  of  your  existence,  and  I  believe  Colonel 
Ormonde  is  a  man  of  character  and  {wsition." 

"He  is  indeed,"  cried  Ada,  falling-  on  lu-r  mother-in-law's  neck. 
"You  are  the  wisest,  kindest  woman  i  i  the  world.  And  you, 
Katherine?" 

"I  r/o  hope  you  will  be  very,  very  happy,"  responded  Katherine; 
"but  I  must  say  I  think  he  is  rather  too  old  for  you.  That,  how- 
ev.  r,  is  your  affair." 

"  Yes,  of  course  it  is  " — leaving  Mrs.  Liddell  to  hug  Katherine. 
"I  am  qiiite  fond  of  him  ;  that  is,  I  esteem  and  like  him.  Of  course 
I  shall  never  love  any  one  as  I  did  my  dear  darling  Fred  ;  but  I 
do  want  some  one  to  help  me  with  the  boys,  and  Marmaduke  (that's 
his  name)  is  quite  fond  of  them.  So  now,  dear  Mrs.  Liddell,  I  will 
stay  on  here  till— till  I  am  married,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  It  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  Ada.  I  wish  we  could  stay  and 
be  present  at  your  marriage." 

"  But  that  is  impossible,"  cried  Katherine. 

"And  not  at  all  necessary,"  added  Mrs.  Frederic,  hastily.  "My 
friend  Mrs.  Burnett  will  help  me  in  every  way,  and  I  have  been 
trouble  enough  already." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Liddell,  quietly.  "  But  I  am  very 
weary.  I  will  go  to  my  room.  Katie  dear,  bring  me  some  tea 
present!  V." 

And  the  widow  escaped  to  rest,  perhaps  to  weep  over  the  bright 
boy  so  dear  to  her,  so  soon  forgotten  by  the  wife  of  his  bosom. 

Not  many  days  after,  Katherine  and  her  mother  set  forth  upon 
their  travels,  leaving  nothing  they  regretted  save  the  two  little  bovs, 
respecting  whose  fate  Katherine  felt  anything  but  satisfied.  Of  this 
she  said  nothing  to  her  mother.  And  so,  with  temporary  forgetful- 
ness  of  the  deed  which  was  destined  to  color  her  wnole  life,  she  saw 
the  curtain  fall  on  the  first  act  of  her  story. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"a  new  phase.'* 

"An  interval  of  three  weeks— six  months— ten  years,"  as  the  case 
may  be— "is  supposed  to  have  elapsed  since  the  last  act."  This  is 
a  very  commonly  used  expression  in  play -hi  lis,  and  there  seoms  no 
just  cause  or  impediment  why  a  story-teller  should  not  avail  him- 
self of  the  same  device  to  waft  the  patient  reader  over  an  unevent- 
ful period,  during  which  the  hero  or  heroine  has  been  granted  a 
"  breathing  space  "  between  the  ebb  and  flow  of  harrowing  adven- 
tures and  moving  incidents. 

It  was,  then,  more  than  two  years  since  the  last  chapter,  and  a 
still  cold  day  at  the  end  of  February— still  and  somewhat  damp — 
in  one  of  the  midland  shiros— say  ClaysliirG.  The  dank  hcidges  and 
sodden  fields  had  a  melancholy  aspect,  which  seemed  to  affect  a 
couple  of  horsemen  who  were  walking  their  jaded,  much-splashed 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  99 

horses  along  a  narrow  road,  or  rather  lane,  which  led  between  a 
stretch  of  pasture-land  on  one  side  and  a  ploughed  field  on  the  other. 
The  red  coats  and  top-boots  of  both  were  liberally  besprinkled  with 
mud  •  even  their  hats  had  not  quite  escaped,  ^rheir  steeds  hung- 
their  heads  and  moved  languidly  ;  both  horses  and  riders  had  evi- 
dently had  a  hard  day's  work.  iPresently  the  road  sloped  somewhat 
steeply  to  a  hollow  sheltered  at  one  side  by  a  staep  bank  overgrown 
with  brushwood  and  large  trees.  The  country  behind  the  bunts- 
men  was  rather  flat  and  very  open,  but  from  this  point  it  became 
broken  and  wooded,  sloping  gradually  up  toward  a  distant  rano-e  of 
low  blue  hills.  * 

"Ha,  you  blundering  idiot !"  exclaimed  the  elder  of  the  two  men 
pullir.g  up  his  horse,  a  powerful  roan,  as  he  stumbled  at  the  be^'in- 
ning  of  the  descent.  He  was  a  big,  heavy  man  with  a  red  face, 
thick  gray  mustache,  and  small,  angry -looking  eyes.  "He'll 
break  my  neck  some  day." 

"Don't  take  away  his'character,"  returned  his  companion,  laugh- 
ing. "  Remember  ho  has  had  a  hard  run,  and  you  are  not  a  featlier- 
weip'ht."  The  speaker  was  tall  (judging  from  the  length  of  the 
well-shaped  leg  which  lay  close  against  his  horse's  side),  large- 
framed,  and  bony  ;  his  plain  strong  face  was  tanned  to  swarthiness 
by  exposure  to  wind  and  weather  ;  moreover,  a  pair  of  deep-set  dark 
eyes  and  long,  nearly  black  mustache  showed  that  he  had  been  no 
fair,  ruddy  youth  to  begin  with. 

"No,  by  Jove  !"  exclaimed  the  first  speaker.  "  I  don't  xmdcrstand 
how  it  is  that  I  grow  so  infernally  stout.  I  am  sure  I  take  exercise 
enough,  and  live  most  temperately." 

"  Exercise  !  Yes,  for  five  or  six  montlis  ;  the  rest  of  the  twelve 
vou  do  nothing.  And  as  to  living  temperately,  what  with  a  solid 
breakfast,  a  heavy  luncheon,  and  a  serious  <?inner,  you  mana^-e  to 
consume  a  great  deal  in  the  twenty-four  hours."  ° 

"Come,  De  Burgh  !    Hang  it,  X rarely  eat  lunch." 

"  Only  when  you  can  get  it.  Say  two  hundred  and  ninety  times 
out  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  of  the  year." 

"I  admit  nothing  of  the  sort.  The  fact  is,  what  I  eat  goes  into  a 
good  skin.  Now  you  might  cram  the  year  round  and  be  a  bag  of 
bones  at  the  end  of  it." 

"Thank  God  for  all  his  mercies,"  replied  De  Burgh.  "The  fact 
is,  you  are  a  spoiled  favorite  of  fortune,  and  in  addition  to  all  the 
good  things  you  have  inherited  you  pick  up  a  charming  wife  who 
spoils  you  and  coddles  you  in  a  way  to  make  the  mouth  of  an  un- 
fortunate devil  like  myself  water  with  envy." 

"None  of  that  nonsense,  De  Burgh,"  complacently,  "The  heart 
of  a  benedict  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  though  I  can't  complain 
much.  If  you  hadn't  been  the  reckless  roue  you  are,  you  miglxt 
have  been  as  v/ell  off  as  myself." 

De  Burgh  laughed.  "You  see,  I  never  cared  for  domestic  bliss. 
I  hate  fetters  of  every  description,  and  I  lay  the  ruin  of  my  morals 
to  the  score  of  that  immortal  old  relative  of  mine  who  persists  in 
keeping  me  out  of  my  heritage.  The  conviction  that  you  are  al- 
ways sure  of  an  estate,  and  possibly  thirty  thousand  a  year,  has  a 
terrible  effect  on  one's  character."  " 


100  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

*'  If  you  had  stuck  to  th3  Service  yovCd  have  been  hig-h  up  by  this 
time,  with  tlie  reputation  you  made  in  thj  Mutiny  time,  for  yuii  were 
little  more  than  a  boy  then." 

"Ay,  or  low  down  !  Not  that  I  should  have  much  to  regret  if  I 
were.  I  have  had  a  lot  of  enjoyment  out  of  life,  however,  but  at 
present  I  am  coming  to  the  end  of  my  tether.  I  am  afraid  I'll  have 
to  sell  the  few  acres  that  are  left  to  me,  and  if  that  g-ets  to  the 
Baron's  ears,  g-ood-by  to  my  chance  of  his  bequeathing-  ma  the  for- 
tune he  has  managed  to  scrape  together  between  windfalls  and 
luckj'  investments.  The  late  Baroness  had  a  pot  of  money,  yuu 
know." 

"I  know  there's  not  much  property  to  go  with  the  title." 

"A  beggarly  five  th  -u.Md  a  year.     I  say,  Ormonde,  are  you  di.s- 

E)sed  for  a  good  thing  .■■  Ljud  m-e  thi'ee  thousand  on  gooil  security  i* 
ix  per  cent.,  old  man  :" 

"I  am  not  so  disivosed,  my  dear  fellow  !  I  have  a  wife  and  my 
boy  to  think  of  now." 

^'Exacrlv,"  returned  the  other,  with  a  sneer.  "You  have  a  new 
edition  of  Colonel  Ormonde's  precious  self." 

"Oh,  3^our  sneers  don't  touch  me  I  You  always  had  your 
hiimors  ; "still  lam  willing  to  lu'lpa  kinsman,  and  I  will  give  you  a 
chance  if  you  like.  What  do  you  say  to  a  rich  young*  wife— none 
of  3' our  crooked  sticks  ?" 

"It's  an  awful  remedy  for  one's  financial  disease,  to  mortgage 
one's  s.li  instead  of  one's  property  ;  still  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  come 
to  it.     Who  is  the  proi^osed  mortgagee?" 

"Mv  wife's  sister." 

"Oh  !" 

Th:;  tone  of  this  '*  Oh  !"  was  in  some  unaccountable  way  ofTensive 
to  C'olonel  Ormonde.  "  Miss  Liddell  comes  of  a  very  good  eld  county 
family  I  can  tell  you,  '  he  said,  quickly  ;  "a  branch  of  theSomerset 
Liddells ;  and  when  I  saw  her  last  she  was  the  making  of  an  un- 
common fine  woman." 

"But  your  Avife  was  a  Mrs.  Liddell,  was  she  not?" 

"Yes.  This  girl  is  her  sister-in-law,  really,  but  Mrs.  Ormonde 
looks  on  her  as  a  sister." 

"  Hum  !    She  Ima  the  cash "/    I  suppose  you  know  all  about  it  ?" 

"  Well,  yes,  you  may  be  stire  of  sixty  or  seventy  thousand,  which 
would  keep  yoii  going  till  Lord  de  Burgh  joins  the  majority." 

"Yes,  tha't  might  do  ;  so  'trot  her  out.'" 

"She  is  co'.niiig  to  stay  with  xis  in  a  week  or  two,  before  the  hunt- 
ing is  quite  over,  so  you  will  be  down  here  still." 

"  I  suspect  I  shall.  The  base  of  the  lodge  Avon't  be  out  till  next 
September,  and  I  may  as  well  stay  there  as  anywhere." 

"  Katherine  Liddell  is  qiiite  unencumberod  ;  she  has  neither  father 
nor  mother,  nor  near  relation  of  any  kind ;  in  fact  Mrs.  Ormonde 
and  myself  are  her  next  friends,  and  in  »  few  weeks  she  will  be  of 
age." 

"All  very  favorable  for  her,"  said  De  Burgh,  in  his  careless, 
commanding  way.  His  tones  were  deep  and  harsh,  and  though  un- 
mistakably one  of  the  "upper  ten,"  there  was  a  degree  of  roughness 
in   his   style,    which,  however,  did  not  prevent  bini  from  being 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  101 

rather  a  favorite  with  women,  who  always  seemed  to  find  his  atten- 
tions peculiarly  flattering-. 

"Come,'"  cried  Ormonde,  "  let  us  push  on.  I  am  getting  chilled 
to  the  bone,  and  we  are  late  enough  already." 

He  touched  his  horse  with  the  spur,  and  both  riders  urged  their 
steeds  to  a  trot.  Turning  a  bend  of  the  road,  they  came  suddenly 
uix)u  a  young  lady  accompanied  by  two  little  boys,  in  smart  velvet 
suits.  Tiiey  were  walking  in  the  direction  of  Castleford — walking 
so  smartly"  that  the  smaller  of  the  two  boys  went  at  a  trot, 
"  Hullo  l"cri'd  Colonel  Ormonde,  pulling  "up  for  an  instant. 
"  What  are  vou  doing  here?  I  hope  the  babv  has  not  been  out  so 
late  :•"' 

"  Ea'oy  has  gone  todrive  with  mother,"chorussed  the  boys  eagerly, 
as  if  a  little  awed. 

"All  right!  Time  you  were  home  too,"  and  he  spurred  a'ter 
De  Burgh. 

' '  Mrs.  Ormonde's  boys  ?"  asked  the  latter, 

"  Yes  ;  have  you  never  seen  them?" 

"  I  knew  they  existed,  but  I  cannot  say  I  ever  beheld  them 
before." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Ormonde  never  bores  people  with  her  brats." 

"After  they  are  out  of  infancy,"  returned  the  other,  dryly. 

A  remark  which  helped  to  "  rile  "  Colonel  Ormonde,  andhe  said 
little  more  till  they  reached  their  destination,  and  both  retired  to 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  bath  before  dressing  for  dinner. 

John  de  Burgh  was  a  distant  relation  of  Ormonde's,  but  having 
been  thrown  together  a  good  deal,  they  seemed  nearer  of  kin  than 
they  really  wei'e.  De  Burgh  was  somewhat  overbearing,  and  domi- 
nated Colonel  Ormonde  considerablv.  He  was  also  somewhat  law- 
loss  by  nature,  hating  restraint  and  intent  upon  his  own  pleasure. 
The  di.scipline  of  military  life,  light  as  it  is  to  an  officer,  became 
intolerable  to  him  when^the  excitement  and  danger  of  real  warfare 
were  past,  and  he  resigned  his  commission  to  loUow  his  own  sweet 
will. 

Ultimately  he  became  renowned  as  a  crack  rider,  and  one  of  the  best 
steeple-chase  jockeys  on  the  turf  in  all  competitions  between 
gentlemen. 

Mrs.  Ormonde  considered  him  quite  an  important  personage,  heir 
to  an  old  title,  and  first  or  second  cousin  to  a  host  of  peers.  It  took 
many  a  day  to  accustom  her  to  think  of  her  husband's  connections 
^vithout  a  sense  of  pride  and  exultation,  at  which  Ormonde  laughed 
h  -artily  whenever  he  perceived  it.  On  his  side  De  Burgh  thought  her 
a  very  pretty  little  toy,  quite  amusin"-  with  her  small  airs  andgraces 
arid  assumption  of  fine-ladyism,  and  lie  showed  her  a  good  deal  of 
indolent  attention,  at  which  her  husband  was  rather  flattered. 

The  rector  of  the  parish  and  oneor  two  officersof  Colonel  Ormonde's 
old  regiment,  whicii  happened  to  be  quartered  at  a  manufacturing 
town  a  few  miles  distant,  made  up  the  party  at  dinner  that  evening, 
and  afterward  thev  dropped  o'f  one  by  one  "to  the  billiard-room,  till 
Mrs.  Ormonde  and  De  Burgh  found  themselves  tete-a-tete. 

"  Do  you  wear  black  every  night  because  it  suits  you  down  to  the 
^ound?"   he  asked,  after  very  deliberately  examining  her  from 


102  A  CROOKED  PATS. 

head  to  foot,  when  he  had  thrown  down  a  newspaper  he  had  been 

scanning.  , ,  ,     , ,     ,    , 

"No  ;  I  am  in  mourning.  Don't  you  see  I  have  only  black  lao« 
and  jet,  and  a  little  crape?"  ,  „     ,^  „    .,,        , 

"Ah!  and  that  constitutes  mourning,  eh?  Well,  there  is  very 
little  mourning  in  your  laughing  eyes.    Who  is  dead?" 

"  My  mother-in-law." 

"  Your  mother-in-law  !    I  didn't  know  Ormonde " 

"I  mean  Mrs.  Liddell  ;  and  I  am  quite  sorry  for  her;  she  was 
wonderfully  fond  of  me,  and  very  kind." 

"  Why,  what  an  angel  you  must  be  to  fascinate  a  hcJh-iriere ! 
Then  the  dear  departed"  must  be  the  mother  of  that  Miss  Liddell 
whom  Ormonde  was  recommending  to  me  this  afternoon ?' 

"Who— my  husband?  How  silly!  She  would  not  suit  you  a 
bit." 

"  Well,  Ormonde  thought  her  fortune  might. ' 

"  Oh,  her  fortune !  that  is  another  thing.  But  she  will  not  be  so 
very  rich  if  she  fulfils  her  promise  to  settle  part  of  herfortune  on  my 
boys.  You  see,  if  their  poor  father  had  liv'ed,  he  would  have  shared 
their  uncle's  money  with  his  sister.  Now  it  is  too  hideously  unjust 
that  my  poor  dear  bovs  should  have  nothing,  and  Katherine  is  very 
proixirly  going  to  make  it  up  to  them." 

"  A  young  woman  with  a  very  high  sense  of  justice.  A  good  deal 
under  the  infiuence  of  her  charming  sister-in-law,  I  presume." 

"Well,  rather,"  returned  Mrs.  Ormonde,  with  an  air  of  superior- 
ity. "  Katherine  is  a  mere  enthusiastic  school-girl,  easily  imposed 
upon.  Both  Colonel  Ormonde  and  mvself  feel  bound  to  look  after 
her." 

"Will  she  let  you ?"  asked  De  Burgh,  dryly. 

"Of  course  she  will.  She  knows  nothing  of  the  world,  or  at 
least  very  little,  for  she  did  not  go  much  into  society  while  they  were 
abroad." 

"  Has  she  been  abroad?" 

"  Yes  ;  Mrs.  Liddell  was  out  of  health  when  Katherine  came  into 
this  money,  and  they  have  been  away  in  Italy  and  Germany  and 
Paris  for  quite  two  years.  They  were  on  their  way  home  when  Mrs. 
Liddell  was  taken  ill.  She  died  in  Paris,  of  typhoid  fever,  just  be- 
fore Christmas," 

"  Tw5  years  In  Italy,  Germany,  and  Paris,"  repeated  De  Burgh  ; 
"she  can't  be  quite  a  novice,  then." 

"  Oh,  she  thinks  she  knows  a  great  deal ;  and  she  is  a  nice  girl, 
though  curious  and  fanciful.  I  like  her  very  much  indeed,  but  1  do 
not  fancy  you  would.  She  is  certainly  obstinate.  Instead  of  coming 
direct  to  us,  and  making  her  home  here,  as  we  were  quite  willing 
she  should,  she  has  gone  to  Miss  Payne,  a  woman  who,  I  believe, 
exists  by  acting  chaperon  to  rich  ^Irls  with  no  relations.  Fancy, 
she  has  absolutely  agreed  to  live  with  this  Miss  Payne  for  a  year 
before  consulting  us,  or  asking  our  consent— or— or  anything!" 

"  Is  she  not  a  minor?" 

"She  will  be  of  age  in  a  week  or  two,  and  it  makes  me  quite  ner- 
vous to  think  that  other  influences  may  prevent  her  keeping  her 
promise  to  my  boys.    It  is  a  mercy  she  did  not  marry  some  greedy 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  103 

forei^er  while  she  was  under  age-    Fortunately,  men  never  seemed 
to  take  a  fancy  to  Katherine." 

"  Thev  will  be  pretty  sure  to  take  a  fancy  to  her  money." 

"  I  think  she  livi-d  sj  quietlv  people  did  not  suspect  her  of  having' 
any.  She  is  awfully  cut  up  about  the  death  of  her  mother,  and  doos 
not  g'O  anywhere.  I  hojXi  she  will  come  down  here  next  week.  The 
only  person  I  am  afraid  of  is  a  horrid  stiff  old  lawyer  who  seems  to 
be  her  rio-ht  hand  man.  He  went  over  to  Paris  when  Mrs.  Liddell 
died,  and  did  everything,  instead  of  sending  for  Colonel  Ormonde  ! 
I  felt  fjuite  hurt  about  it." 

"Ha  !  a  shrewd  old  lawyer  is  bad  to  beat,"  said  De  Burgh,  look- 
ing at  his  lively  informant  with  half -closed  eyes  and  an  amused  ex- 
?res.sion.  ''I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  of  your  sister  if  I  were  you. 
iuiU'.r  such  guidance  the  young  lady  may  alter  her  generous  in- 
tentions." 

"  Pray  do  not  say  such  horrible  things,  Mr.  De  Burgh  !"  cried 
Mrs.  Ormonde,  growing  vei-y  grave,  even  pathetic,  and  looking  in- 
clined to  cry.  "What  would  become  of  me— I  mean  us -if  she 
changed  her  mind?  'Duke  would  be  furious  ;  he  would  never  for- 
give me." 

"  Pooh  !  nonsense !  a  man  would  forgive  a  woman  like  you 
anything." 

"A  woman,  perhaps,  but  not  his  wife,"  she  returned,  shaking 
her  head.  "  But  J  wori't  think  of  anything  so  dreadful.  1  am 
quite  sure  Katie  will  never  break  her  word  ;  she  is  awfuUv 
true." 

"  That  is  rather  an  alarming  character.  You  make  me  quite  curi- 
ous. What  is  she  like— anything  like  you?" 

"  Not  a  bit.  You  know,  she  is  only  my  sister-in-law.  She  is  tall 
ajid  large,  and  much  more  decided  "—looking  up  in  his  face  with  a 
caressing  smile. 

"  I  understand.  Not  a  delicate  little  darling,  made  for  laughter 
and  kisses,  and  sugar,  and  spice,  and  all  that's  nice,  like  yon."  This 
with  an  insolent,  admiring  look,  "Not  a  woman  to  fall  in  love 
with,  but  useful  as  a  wife  to  keep  one's  household  up  to  the 
collar." 

"  Heally,  Mr.  De  Burgh,  you  are  very  shocking  !  You  must  not 
say  such  things  to  me."  ^ 

"'Mustn't  I?  How  shall  you  prevent  me?  I  am  a  relative,  you 
know.    You  can't  treat  me  as  a  stranger." 

"  You  are  quite  too  audacious—"  she  was  beginning,  when  a  slim 
younu'  cornet  came  back  from  the  billiard-room. 

"The  Colonel  wants  you,  Mrs.  Ormonde,"  he  said  ;  "and  vou 
too,  De  Burgh.  We  are  n  ^t  enough  for  pool,  and  you  play  a  capital 
game.  Mrs.  Ormonde." 

"  What  are  the  sta];es?"  asked  De  Burgh,  rising  readily  enough. 

"Oh,  I  can't  play  well  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde,  following  him 
with  evident  reluctance.  "  Certainly  not  when  Colonel  Ormonde  is 
looking  on." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  him.  I'll  screen  you  from  his  hypercritical 
eyes,"  returned  De  Burgh,  as  he  held  the  door  open  for  her  to  pass 
out.  '^ 


104  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

So  it  was,  after  a  spell  of  heavenly  tranquility,  as  Katherine  and 
her  mother  were  on  their  way  to  England,  intending-  to  make  a  home 
iu  or  near  London,  Mrs.  Liddell  had  been  struck  down  with  fever, 
and  Katherine  was  left  unsix^akably  desolate.  Then  she  turned  to 
her  old  friend  Mr.  Newton,  and  found  him  of  infinite  use  and  com- 
fort. 

A  short  space  of  numb  inaction  followed,  during  which  she  fully 
realized  the  loneliness  of  her  position,  ana  from  which  she  rousea 
herself  to  plan  her  future. 

At  the  time  Mrs.  Liddell  was  tirst  attacked  with  fever  they  had 
just  renewed  their  acjuaintauce  with  a  Miss  Payne,  whom  tlioy  had 
met  in  Rome  and  at  Berlin.  She  was  not  unknown  in  society,  for 
she  came  of  a  g-ood  old  county  family,  and  was  h  >lf-sisCer  of  the 
Bertie  whose  name  has  already  appeared  in  these  pag-es. 

Their  father,  with  an  old  man's  pride  in  a  handsome  only  son,  had 
left  ttie  bulk  of  his  fortune  to  Bertie,  while  Hannah,  who  had  minis- 
tered to  his  comfort  and  borne  his  ill-humor,  inherited  only  a  paltry 
couple  of  hundred  a  year,  with  a  fairly  well  furnished  house  in  Wil- 
ton iStreet,  Hyde  Park.  Her  brother  "would  have  willing-ly  added  to 
this  pittance,'but  sha  sternly  refused  to  accept  what  did  not  of  rig'ht 
belong'  to  her.  Bertie  went  with  his  reg-iment  to  India,  whence  he 
returned  a  wiser,  a  poorer,  and  a  physically  weaker  man. 

His  sister,  whose  business  instincts  were  much  too  strong  to  \)or- 
mit  lier  wrapping  up  such  a  "  talent ''  as  a  freehold  house  in  the  nap- 
kin of  unfruitful  occujwition,  looked  round  to  see  how  she  could  best 
turn  it  to  account.  Accident  threw  in  her  way  a  girl  of  large  for- 
tune with  no  relations,  whose  guardians,  thankful  to  find  a  respect- 
able home  for  her.  readily  agreed  to  pay  Mi.ss  Payne  handsomely 
for  taking  charge  of  the  orphan.  Her  first  protef/ee  married  well, 
under  her  auspices,  and  from  henceforth  her  house  was  rarely  empty. 
Sometimes  she  accepted  a  rovin*^  commission  and  travelled  with  her 
charge,  meanwhile  letting  her  house  in  town,  so  making  a  double 
protit.  It  was  on  one  of  these  exp<:iditions  that  she  was  introduced 
to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Liddell.  There  was  an  air  of  sincerity  and  com- 
mon-sense about  the  compo.sed  elderly  gentlewoman  which  rather 
attracted  the  former,  and,  when  they  met  again  in  Paris,  Miss  Payne 
came  to  Katie  in  her  trouble  and  proved  a  brave  and  capable  nurse  ; 
nor  was  she  unsympathetic,  though  far  from  elTusive.  So,  finding 
that  Miss  Payne's  last  young  lady  had  left  her,  Katherine,  with  the 
approval  of  Mr.  Newton,  proposed  to  become  her  inmate  for  a  year— 
an  arrangement  entirely  in  accordance  with  Miss  Payne's  wishes. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  acquainted  with  Mi.ss  Liddell  "  she 
said  one  evening  when  she  was  sitting  with  her  brother.  Katherine 
having  retired  early,  as  she  often  did.  "  It  is  quite  a  surprise  to 
me." 

"  I  can  hardly  say  I  am  acquainted  with  her  ;  I  happened  to  be 
of  some  slight  use  to  her  once,  and  I  met  her  after  by  accident,  when 
we  spoke  ;  that  is  all." 

"  I  wonder  she  did  not  mention  it  to  me." 

"I  imagine  she  hardly  knew  my  name."  Miss  Payne  uttered  an 
inarticulate  sound  between  a  h'm  and  a  groan,  b\'  which  she  gen- 
erally expressed  indefinite  dissent  and  disapprobation.    Then  she  rose 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  '  106 

and  walked  to  the  dwarf  bookcase  at  the  end  of  the  room  to  fetch  her 
tatting-.  She  was  tall  and  slight.  Followino-  her,  you  might  im- 
agine her  young,  for  her  figure  was  good  and  her  step  brisk. 
Meeting  her  face  to  face,  her  pale,  slightly  puckered  cheeks,  closely 
compressed  lips,  keen  light  eyes,  and  crisp  pepper-and-salt  hair- 
Cayenne  pe[per,  for  it  had  once  been  red— suggested  at  least  twenty 
or  twenty-live  additional  years  as  compared  with  the  back  view. 

Eeturning  to  her  seat,  she  began  to  tat,  slowing  drawing  each 
knot  hojne  with  a  reflective  air. 

"That  woman  is  hunting  her  up,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  after 
a  few  minutes'  silence,  during  which  Ecrtie  looked  thoughtfully  at 
the  fire— his  quiet  face,  with  its  look  of  unutterable  peace,  the  strong- 
est possible  contrast  to  his  sister's  hard,  shrewd  aspect. 

"What  woman  ?"  asked,  as  if  recalled  from  a  dream. 

"Mrs.  Ormonde.  There  was  a  telegram  from  her  this  after- 
noon. She  has  been  worrying  Miss  Liddell  to  go  to  them  ever 
since  she  set  foot  in  England  ;  and  as  that  won't  do,  she  is  coming 
up  to-morrow  to  see  what  personal  persuasion  will  do." 

"  1  dare  say  Mrs.  Ormonde  is  fond  of  her  sister-in-law.  She  is  too 
well  off  to  have  any  mercenary  designs." 

"Is  that  all  your  experience  has  taught  you?"  (contemptuously). 
"  If  there  is  anv  truth  in  handwriting,  that  Mrs.  Ormonde  is  a 
fool.  Her  letter  after  Mrs.  LiddeU's  death,  which  Katherine  showed 
me  because  it  touched  her,  was  the  production  of  an  effusive  idiot. 
I  don't  trust  sentimentalists  ;  thev  seldom  have  much  honesty  or 
justice.  Katherine  Liddell  is  a  little  soft  too,  but  she  is  by  no  means 
so  asinine  as  the  others  I  have  had.  Wait,  however— wait  till  some 
man  takes  her  fancy  ;  that  is  the  divining-rod  to  show  where  the 
springs  of  folly  lie."  ,  .,,      .      ,      , 

"  Miss  Liddell  is  a  goo  1  deal  changed,"  returned  Bertie,  slowly. 
"She  looks  considerably  older.  No,  that  is  not  the  right  expression: 
I  mean  she  seems  more  mature  than  when  I  saw  her  before.  What 
she  says  is  said  deliberately  ;  what  she  does  is  with  the  full  con- 
sciousness of  what  she  is  doing  ;  but  she  looks  as  if  she  had 
suffered."  .  .       ^  .  ^.  ,,  _ 

"She  has,"  said  Miss  Payne,  with  an  air  of  conviction.  "Her 
grief  for  her  mother  was,  is,  deep  and  real.  I  don't  believe  in  floods 
of  tears— they  are  a  relief."  ,      ,     ,     .  ,..  , 

"Yes  ;  and  though  she  looks  so  pale  and  sad,  she  is  not  a  whit  less 
beautiful  than  she  was."  ^      ,  ,    .      . 

"Beautiful!"  repeated  Miss  Payne.  "I  rather  admire  her  my- 
self, but  I  don't  think  anv  one  could  call  her  beautiful." 

"Perhaps  not.  There  is  so  much  expression  in  her  face,  such 
feeling  in  her  eyes,  that  not  many  really  beautiful  women  would 
stand  comparison  with  her."  ,,  r.,     • 

Miss  Pavne  sniffed,  and  then  she  smiled.  "  She  is  not  a  common- 
place young  woman,  though  I  fear  she  is  easily  imposed  upon.  I 
am  afraid  she  may  be  snapped  up  by  some  plausible  fortune- 
Bertie  frowned  sUghtlv.  "I  trust  she  may  be  guided  to  happi- 
ness with  some  good.  God-fearing  man,"  he  said,  and  then  he  bid 
his  sister  good-night  somewhat  abruptly. 


106  A  CROOKED  PATtt 

Meantime,  Katherine  sat  plunged  in  thought  beside  the  fire  in  her 
bedroom.  She  was  not  given  to  weeping,  but  she  was  profoundly 
sad.  To  find  herself  again  in  London  without  her  mother  seemed  to 
re!iew  the  intense  grief  which  had  indeed  lost  but  little  of  its  keen- 
n(\ss.  Never  had  a  mother  been  more  terribly  missed.  They  had 
been  such  sympathetic  friends,  such  close  companions  ;  they  had 
had  such  a  hearty  rctspect  for  and  appreciation  of  each  other's  quali- 
tit's,  such  a  pleasant  comprehension  of  each  other's  different  tastes, 
that  it  would  be  hard  to  fill  the  place  of  the  dear,  lost  comrade  with 
wliom  she  had  hitherto  walked  hand  in  hand.  It  soothed  her  to 
think  of  the  delightful  tranquility  Mrs.  Liddell  had  enjoyed  for  the 
last  two  j'ears,  of  the  untroubled  sweetness  of  their  intercourse,  of 
her  mother's  last  contented  words  :  "I  am  quite  happy,  dear.  Your 
future  is  secure,  and  you  have  never  given  me  a  moment's  pain. 
We  have  had  such  delightful  days  together !" 

How  could  she  have  borne  to  have  seen  a  pained,  anxious  look — 
such  a  look  as  was  once  familiar  to  them— in  those  dear  eyes,  as  they 
closed  forever  on  this  mortal  scene!  Oli,  thank  God  for  the 
heavenly  security  of  those  last  day^  whatever  the  price  she  had 
paid  for  them ! 

Motherless,  she  was  utterly  desolate.  It  would  be  long,  long  be- 
foi'e  she  could  find  any  one  to  fill  her  mother's  place,  if  she  ever  did. 
For  the  present  she  was  satisfied  to  stay  with  Miss  Payne,  but  she 
did  not  think  she  coiild  ever  love  her.  The  idea  of  residing  with 
Colonel  Ormonde  and  his  wife  was  distasteful.  The  most  attractive 
scheme  was  to  beg  her  little  nephews  from  their  mother,  and  take 
them  to  live  with  Tier.  She  was  almost  of  age,  and  felt  old  enough 
to  set  up  for  herself.  As  she  pondered  on  these  things  she  felt  bitterly 
that,  rich  or  poor,  a  homeless  woman  is  a  wretched  creature. 

At  last  she  went  to  bed,  and  lay  for  a  while  watchingthe  fire-light 
as  it  cast  flickering  shadows,  thinking  of  the  tender,  watchful  love 
which  had  dropped  away  out  of  her  life  ;  and  with  the  murmured 
words,  "Dear,  dear  mother  !"  on  her  lips  she  fell  asleep. 

The  next  day  broke  bright  and  clear,  though  cold,  and  having 
kept  Katherine  at  home  all  day,  Mrs.  Ormonde  made  her  ap[3earance 
in  time  for  afternoon  tea. 

"  My  dear,  dearest  Katherine  !"  cried  the  little  woman,  fluttering 
in,  all  fur  and  feathers,  in  the  richest  and  most  becoming  morning 
toilette,  looking  prettier  and  younger  than  ever,  "I  am  so  delighted 
to  see  you  once  more !  Why  have  you  staid  in  town,  instead  of 
coming  straight  to  us?"  and  she  embraced  her  tall  sister-in-law 
eifusivjly. 

Katherine  returned  her  embrace.  For  a  moment  or  two  she  could 
not  command  her  voice  ;  the  sight  of  the  known  childish  face,  the 
sound  of  the  shrill  familiar  voice,  brought  a  flood  of  sudden  sorrow 
over  her  heart ;  but  Mrs.  Ormonde  was  not  the  sort  of  woman  to 
whom  she  could  express  it. 

"  And  /  am  very  glad  to  see  jion,  Ada !  How  well  you  are  looking 
— even  younger  and  fairer  than  you  used  !" 

"  Yes,  I  am  uncommonly  well ;  and  you,  dear,  you  are  looking 
pale  and  ill  and  older  !  You  will  forgive  me,  but  I  am  quite  dis- 
tressed.   You  must  come  down  to  Castleford  at  oncp  " 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  107 

"Thank  you.  Where  are  the  boys?  I  hoped  you  would  bring" 
them." 

"  Oh,  Colonel  Ormonde  thoug-ht  they  would  be  too  troublesome 
for  me  in  a  hotel,  so  I  left  them  behind.  They  were  awfully  disap- 
pointed, poor  dears  ;  but  it  is  better  yon  should  come  down  and  see 
them.  Cecil  is  going  to  school  after  Easter,  and  I  believe  Charlie 
must  g-osoon." 

"I  long  to  see  them,"  said  Katherine,  assisting  her  visitor  to  take 
off  her  cloak. 

"And  y  long  to  showyoumy  new  little  boy,"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde, 
drawing  a  chair  to  the  hre,  and  putting  her  small,  daintly  shod  feet 
on  the  fender.  "He  is  a  splendid  child,  amazingly  forward  for 
six  months." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  so  happy,  Ada  ;  I  shall  be  pleased  to  make 
the  actjuaintance  of  my  new  nephew.  I  suppose  I  may  consider  him 
a  sort  of  nephew?" 

"  My  dear,  of  course  !  Colonel  Ormonde,  as  well  as  myself,  is 
proud  to  consider  you  his  aunt.  Yes,  I  am  very  happy— though 
Ormonde  k<  rather  provokin"'  sometimes;  still,  he  is  not'  half  bad, 
and  I  know  how  to  manage  him.  You  are  .s/t/?  a  favorite  with  my 
husband,  Katie.  He  admires  you  so  much,  I  sometimes  threaten  to 
be  jealous— why,  what  is  the  matter,  dear  ?" 

Katherine  had  suddenly  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"Do  not  mind  me,  Ada  !"  she  said,  when  she  could  speak.  "It 
was  just  that  name  ;  no  one  has  called  me  Ka:;ie  except  my  mother 
and  you,  and  the  idea  that  I  should  never  hear  her  speak  again  over- 
powered me  for  a  moment." 

Mrs.  Ormonde  was  puzzled.  Not  knowing  what  to  do  in  face  of  a 
great  grief,  she  took  out  her  own  pocket- handerchief  politely. 

"Of  course,  dear,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  quite  natural.  I  was"  awfully 
cut  up  when  I  heard  of  your  sad  loss— and  mine  too,  for  I  am  sure 
Mrs.  Liddell loved  me  Tike  her  own  child;  it  was  quite  wonderful 
for  a  mother-in-law..  I  was  afraid  to  speak  to  you  about  her,  but  I 
am  sure  she  would  like  j'ou  to  live  with  us  ;  it  is  your  natural  home. 
And— and  she  would,  I  am  sure,  pleased  if  she  can  know  what  is 
going  on  here  below,  to  see  that  >ou  fulfilled  your  kind  intentions 
to  her  poor  iittle  grandsons."  These  last  words  with  some  hesi- 
tation, 

Katherine  kept  silence,  and  still  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 
So  Mrs.  Ormonde  resumed  :  "A  good,  religious  girl  girl  like  you, 
Katherine,  must  feel  that  it  is  right  to  submit  to  the  will  of—" 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know  all  about  that,"  interrupted  Katherine,  who 
was  rather  irritated  than  soothed  by  her  sister-in-law's  attempt  at 
preaching;  and  recovering  herself ,  she  added :  "I  will  not  worry 
you  with  my  tears.  Tell  me  how  the  boys  get  on  with  Colonel 
t)rmonde." 

"  Very  well  indeed,  especially  Cecil.  'Duke  is  very  kind.  They 
have  a  pony,  and  quite  enjoy  the  country  ;  but  now  that  we 
have  a  boy  of  our  own,  we  feel  doubly  anxious  that  Cis  and  Charlie 
should  be  permanently  provided  for  ;  so  do,  dear,  come  back  with 
rae,  and  talk  it  all  over  with  my  husband.  He  is  such  a  good  man 
of  business." 


108  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Katherine  smiled  faintly ;  she  liad  not  seen  the  drift  of  Mrs, 
Ormonde's  remarks  at  first  ;  there  was  no  luistaldng-  them  now.  A 
slightly  mischievous  sense  of  power  kept  her  from  setting-  her  sister- 
in-law  s  mind  at  rest  immediately. 

"J  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  consult  with  Colonel  Ormonde, 
Ada,  for  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  what  to  du.  I  think  you 
may  trust  your  boys  to  me.  I  miist  see  Mr.  Newton  and  arrange 
many  matters,  so  I  do  not  think  I  can  go  to  you  just  yet.  Then,  I  do 
not  like  to  be  in  the  wav,  and  I  could  m.-t  mix  ni  society  just  yet. 
Oh,  I  am  not  nuorbid  ur  sentimental,  but  some  mouths  of  seclusion  I 
must  have." 

Mrs.  Ormonde  played  with  the  tassel  of  the  screen  with  which  she 
shelt(!red  her  face  fi'om  the  fire  while  she  thought :  "  What  can  she 
really  mean  to  do?  I  wonder  if  she  is  engaged  to  any  one,  and 
waiting  for  him  here?  Once  she  is  marri(!(l,  good-by  to  a  settle- 
ment. She  is  awfully  deep  !"  Then  she  said  a  oud,  coaxingiy,  'Oh, 
we  are  very  quiet  home-staying'  peoj)le.  We  have  a  few  men  to 
stay  now  and  again,  but  we  never  give  big  dinners.  Tell  me  the 
truth,  dear,  areyounot  engagetl?  It  would  be  but  natural.  A  charm- 
ing girl  like  you,  with  a  lai'ge  fortune,  could  not  escape  a  multitude 
of  lovers." 

"You  are  wrong,  Ada.  I  am  not  engaged,  and  I  have  no  lovers. 
Of  course  a  prince  or  two  and  a  German  graf  did  me  the  honor  of 
proposing  to  annex  my  projxirty,  taking  myself  with  it.  Any  well- 
dowered  girl  m  ly  expect  such  offers  in  Continental  society  ;  but 
they  did  not  affect  me." 

"  No,  no  ;  certainly  not !  It  will  be  an  Englishman.  Quite  right. 
And  'Dukemiist  find  out  all  about  him.  You  know,  dear,  you  would 
marry  ever  so  much  l)etter  from  mi/  house  than  you  possibly  could 
here,  with  a  person  who,  after  all,  merely  keeps  a  pension." 

"if  Miss  Payne  could  hear  you  !"  said  Kath^'rine. 

"Oh,  I  should  never  say  it  to  her.  But,  Katherine,  now  is  your 
time,  when  you  are  of  age,  and  before  you  marry — now  is  the  time 
to  settle  whatever  you  intend  to  settle  on  my  poor  little  boys.  I  am 
sure  you  will  excuse  me  for  mentioning  it,  won't  .you?"  Between 
you  and  me,  I  don't  think  'Duke  would  have  married  if  he  had  not 
believed  you  would  provide  for  Cis  and  Charlie.  1  don't  know  what 
would  become  of  us  if  they  were  thrown  on  his  hands." 

"You  need  not  fear,"  cried  Katherine,  quickly.  "My  nephews 
shall  never  cost  Colonel  Ormonde  a  sou." 

"No,  I  was  sure  you  wouldn't,  dear,  you  are  .such  a  kind,  gener- 
ous creature,  so  unselfish  1  do  hate  selfishness,  and  though  the  al- 
lowance you  now  give  is  very  handsome—" 

"I  am  to  make  it  a  little  larger,"  put  in  Katherine,  good-humor- 
edly,  as  Mrs.  Ormonde  paused,  not  knowing  how  to  finish  her  sen- 
tence. "Be  content,  Ada  ;  you  shall  have  due  notice  when  1  have 
made  all  my  plans.  I  have  a  good  deal  to  do,  for  I  ought  to  make 
mv  will  too." 

""  Your  will !  Oh  yes.  to  be  sure.  I  never  thought  of  that.  But 
if  you  marry  it  will  "be  of  no  use." 

"Until  I  am  married  it  will  be  of  use." 

"And  when  do  you  intend  to  come  to  US?" 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  109 

"Oh,  some  time  next  month." 

"  I  hope  so.  I  want  to  come  up  for  a  while  after  Easter,  and  am 
trying'  to  g'ct  the  Colonel  to  take  a  house ;  thai  depends  on  you  a 

food  deal.  If  you  would  join  me  in  taking"  a  house  for  three  months 
e  would  ag'rec  at  once." 

"But  I  have  just  agreed  to  stay  with  Miss  Payne  for  a  year." 

'•How  foolish!  how  short-sig'hted  !"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde.  "You 
will  be  just  lost  in  a  second  rate  place  like  this." 

"It  will  suit  me  perfectly.  I  only  want  rest  and  peace  at  present. 
I  dare  say  it  will  not  be  so  always." 

"  Well,  I  know  tliere  is  no  use  in  talking*  to  you.  You  will  g"o 
your  own  way.  Only,  as  I  am  in  town,  do  come  to  my  dressmaker's. 
Thoug-h  you  had  your  mourning-  in  Paris,  do  you  know,  you  look 
quite  dowdy.     You'll  not  mind  my  saying"  so? 

"  I  dare  say  I  do.    Miss  Payne  g-ot  everything*  for  me." 

"  Oh,  are  you  g'oing-  to  give  yourself  into  her  hands  blindfold?  I 
am  afraid  she  is  a  desig-ning*  Avoman.  You  really  must  g'ct  some 
stylish  dress. :S.     You  must  do  yourself  justice." 

"  I  have  as  many  as  I  want,  and  there  is  no  need  of  Avasting' 
money,  even  if  \o\\  have  a  g^ood  deal.  How  many  jwor  souls  need 
food  and  clothes  !" 

"Oh,  Ka'harine,  if  you  begin  to  talk  in  that  way,  you  will  be 
robbed  and  plundered  to  no  end." 

"I  hop.'  not.  Here  is  tea,  and  Miss  Payne.  I  will  come  and  f-ee 
you  to-morrow  early,  and  bring-  some  little  presents  for  the  boys." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"l  WAS   A  STRANGER   AND  YE  TOOK  ME  IN." 

Mrs.  Ormonde  ling-ered  as  long  as  she  could.  Bond  Street  was 
paradise  to  her,  Regent  Street  an  Elysiau  Field.  While  she  staid 
she  gave  her  sister  in-law  little  peace,  and  until  she  had  departed 
Kathorine  did  not  attempt  to  go  into  business  matters  with  Mr. 
Newton.  She  was  half  amused,  half  disgusted,  at  Mrs.  Ormonde's 
perpetual  reminders,  hints,  and  innuendoes  touching  the  setilemciut 
on  Jier  boys.  Ada  was  the  same  as  ever,  yet  Katherine  liked  her  for 
the  sake  of  the  memories  she  evoked  and  shared. 

It  was  quite  a  relief  when  she  left  town,  and  Katherine  felt  once 
m, a-;  hjr  own  mistress.  Her  heart  yearned  for  her  little  nephews, 
but  she  felt  it  was  wiser  to  wait  and  see  them  at  home  rather  than 
send  for  them  at  present.  She  greatly  feared  that  the  new  baby, 
the  son  of  a  living,  prosperous  father,"  was  pushing  the  sons  of  the 
first  hu.shand— who  had  taken  his  unlucky  self  out  of  the  world, 
where  he  had  been  anything  but  a  success— from  their  place  in  her 
afl'ections. 

Meantime  she  held  frequent  consultations  with  Mr.  Newton,  who 
was  very  devoted  to  her  service,  and  anxious  to  do  his  Ijest  for  her. 
He  remonstrated  earnestly  with  her  on  her  over-generosity  to  her 
nepliews.     "  Provide  for  them  if  you  will,  my  dear  young  lady,  but 


110  A  CEOOKED  PATH. 

believe  me  you  are  by  no  means  called  upon  to  dimde  your  property 
with  them.  Do  not  make  them  too  independent  of  you  ;  hold  some- 
thing- in  your  hand.  Besides,  you  do  not  know  what  considerations 
may  arise  to  make  you  regret  too  great  liberality." 
"  I  have  very  little  use  for  money  now,"  said  Katherine,  sadly. 
"  You  have  always  been  remarkably  moderate  in  your  expendi- 
ture," returned  the  lawyer,  who  had  the  entire  management  of  her 
affairs.  ''But  now  you  will  probably  like  to  establish  yourself  in 
liondon,  say,  for  headquarters." 

"  Not  for  the  present.  I  shall  stay  where  I  am  until  some  plan  of 
life  suggests  itself." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  and  certainly  you  are  a  very  prudent 
young  lady." 

This  conversation  took  place  in  Mr.  Newton's  office,  and  after 
some  further  discussion  Katherine  was  persuaded  to  settle  a  third 
instead  of  the  half  of  her  property  on  her  nephews,  out  of  which  a 
jointure  was  to  be  paid  to  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"I  wish  I  could  have  the  boys  with  me,"  said  Katherine,  as  she 
rose  to  leave  Mr.  Newton. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Liddell,  take  care  how  you  saddle  yourself  with 
the  difficult  task  of  standing  in  loco  parentis  ;  leave  the  very  serious 
responsibilities  of  bringing  up  boys  to  the  mother  whose  they  are. 
At  your  age,  and  with  the  almost  certainty  of  forming  new  ties^  such 
a  step  would  be  very  imprudent. " 

"At  all  events  I  shall  see  how  they  all  get  on  at  Castleford  before 
I  commit  myself  to  anything.  You  will  lose  no  time,  dear  Mr. 
Newton,  in  getting  this  'deed  ready  for  my  signature.  I  do  not  want 
to  say  anything  about  it  till  it  is  "'signed,  sealed,  and  delivered.'  " 

"  It  shall  be  put  in  hand  at  once.    When  shall  you  be  going  out 
of  town?" 
"  Not  for  ten  days  or  a  fortnight." 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  look  so  pale  and 
sad.  Excuse  me  if  1  presume  in  saying  so.  Well,  I  don't  think 
your  uncle  ever  did  a  wiser  act  than  in  destroying  that  will  of  his 
before  he  made  another.  The  extraordinary  instinct  he  had  about 
money  must  have  warned  him  that  his  precious  fortune  would  be 
best  bestowed  on  so  prudent  yet  so  generous  a  young  lady  as  your- 
self." 

"Don't  praise  me,  Mr.  Newton,"  said  Katherine,  sharply.  "  Could 
you  see  me  as  I  see  myself,  you  would  i^now  how  little  I  deserve  it." 
"  I  am  sure  I  should  know  nothing  of  the  kind,"  returned  the  old 
lawyer,  smiling.  Katherine  was  a  prime  favorite  with  him— quite 
his  ideal  of  a  charming  and  admirable  woman.  All  he  hoped  was 
that  when  the  sharp  edge  of  her  grief  had  worn  off  she  would  mix  in 
society  and  marry  some  highly  placed  man  worthy  of  her,  a  Q.C.,  if 
one  young  enough  could  be  found,  who  was  on  the  direct  road  to  the 
woolsack. 

The  evening  of  this  day  Bertie  Payne  came  in,  as  he  often  did 
after  dinner.  Katherine  was  always  pleased  to  see  him.  He 
brought  a  breath  of  genial  life  into  the  rather  glacial  atmosphere  of 
Miss  Payne's  drawing-room.  Yet  there  was  something  soothing  to 
Katherine  in   the  orderly  quiet  of  the  house,  in  the  conviction, 


_  ^  CROOKED  PATH.  Ill 

springing:  from  she  knew  not  what,  that  Miss  Payne  liked  her 
heartily;  in  her  steady,  tindemonstrative  fashion.  She  never  inter- 
fered with  Katherine  in  any  way  ;  she  was  ready  to  go  with  her 
when  asked,  or  to  let  her  young*  guest  go  on  her  own  business  alone 
and  unquestioned,  while  she  saw  to  her  comfort,  and  proved  much 
more  companionable  than  Katherine  expected. 

On  this  particular  evening  which  marked  a  new  mental  epoch  for 
Katherine  Liddell,  the  two  companions  were  sitting  by  the  fire  in 
Miss  Payne's  comfortable  though  rather  old-fashioned  drawing- 
room,  the  curtains  drawn,  the  hearth  aglow,  Miss  Payne  engaged 
on  a  large  piece  of  patchwork  which  she  had  been  employed  upon  for 
years,  while  Katherine  read  aloud  to  her.  This  was  a  favorite  mode 
of  passing  the  evening  ;  it  saved  the  trouble  of  inventing  conversa- 
tion—for Miss  Payne  was  not  loquacious— and  it  was  more  sympa- 
thetic than  reading  to  one's  self.  Miss  Payne,  it  need  scarcely  be 
said,  had  no  patience  with  novels  ;  biography  and  travels  were'  her 
favorite  studies ;  nor  did  she  disdain  history,  though  given  to  be 
sceptical  concerning  accounts  of  what  had  happened  long  ago.  She 
had  never  been  so  happy  and  comfortable  with  any  of  her  protcgeps 
as  with  Katherine,  though,  as  she  observed  to  her  brother,  she  did 
not  expect  it  to  last.  "Stay  till  she  is  a  little  known,  and  the  mothers 
of  marriageable  sons  get  about  her  ;  then  it  will  be  the  old  thing 
over  again— dress,  drive,  dance,  hurry-scurry  from  morning  till 
night.    However,  I'll  make  the  most  of  the  present." 

Miss  Payne,  then,  and  her  "  favored  guest "  were  cozily  settled  for 
the  evening  when  Bertie  entered. 

"May  I  present  mvself  in  a  frock  coat?"  he  asked,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  Katherine.  "1  have  had  rather  a  busy  day, 
and  found  myself  in  your  neighborhood  ju.st  now,  so  could  not  resist 
looking  in." 

"At  your  usual  work,  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Payne,  severely. 
"  Pray  have  you  had  anything  to  eat?" 

"Yes,  I  assure  you.  I  dined  quite  luxuriously  at  Bethnal  Green 
about  an  hour  and  a  half  ago." 

"Ha  !  at  a  cofifee-stall,  I  suppose  ;  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  ha'p'orth 
of  bread.  I  must  insist  on  your  having  some  proper  food." 
Miss  Payne  put  forth  her  hand  toward  the  bell  as  she  spoke. 

"Do  not  give  yourself  the  trouble  ;  I  really  do  not  want  anything, 
nor  will  I  take  anything  beyond  a  cup  of  tea."  Bertie  drew  a  chair 
beside  Katherine,'a8kea  what  she  was  reading,  and  talked  a  little 
about  the  news  of  the  day.  Then  he  fell  into  silence,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  fire,  a  very  grave  expression  stilling  his  face. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?"  asked  his  sister.  "What  misery 
have  you  been  steeping  yourself  in  to-day?" 

"Misery  indeed,"  he  echoed.  Then,  meeting  Katherine's  eyes 
fixed  upon  him,  he  smiled.  "  Of  course  I  see  misery  every  day,''  he 
continued,  "  but  I  don't  like  to  trouble  you  with  too"  much  of  it.  To- 
day I  met  with  an  unusually  hard  case,  and  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
for  some  help  toward  righting  it." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  want,"  said  Katherine. 

"  Are  you  sure  the  story  is  genuine?"  asked  Miss  Payne. 

"  I  am  quite  sure.    I  went  into  Bow  Street  Police  Court  to-day 


^t2  A  CROOKED  PATa 

intending-  to  speak  to  the  sitting  maq^istrate  about  some  children 
respc^cting  whom  h3  had  asked  for  information,  when  I  was  attracted 
by  the  face  of  a  woman  who  was  being  examined  ;  she  was  poorly 
ctad,  but  evidently  respectable  — like  a  better  class  of  needle-woman. 
I  never  saw  a  lace  express  such  despair.  It  seemed  she  had  been 
caught  in  the  act  of  stealing  two  loaves  from  the  shop  of  a  baker. 
The  poor  creature  did  not  deny  it.  Her  story  was  that  she  had  been 
for  some  years  a  widow ;  that  she  had  supjwrted  herself  and  two 
children  by  needle-work  and  machine-work.  Illness  had  impover- 
ished her  and  diminished  her  connection,  other  workers  having  been 
taken  on  in  her  absence.  In  short  she  had  been  caught  in  that 
terrible  maelstrom  of  misfortune  from  which  no  one  can  escape  with- 
out a  helping  hand.  Her  sewing  machine  was  seized  for  rent ;  one 
article  after  another  of  furniture  and  clothes  went  for  food  ;  at  last 
nothing  was  left.  She  roamed  the  city,  reduced  to  beg  at  last,  and 
striving  to  make  up  her  mind  to  go  to' the  workhouse,  the  cry  of  the 
hungry  childi-en  she  had  left  in  her  ears  At  several  bakers'  shops 
she  had  jx^titioned  for  food  and  had  been  refused.  At  last,  entering 
one  while  the  shop-girl's  back  was  turned,  she  snatched  a  coui'le  of 
small  loaves  and  rushed  out  into  the  arms  of  a  ix)liceman,  who  had 
seen  the  theft  through  the  window." 

"  x\nd  would  the  magistrate  punish  her  for  this?"  asked  Katherine, 
eagerly. 

"He  must.  Theft  is  theft,  whatever  the  circumstances  that  seem 
to  extenuate  it.  Nothing,  no  need,  gives  a  right  to  take  what  does 
not  belon":  to  you.  But,  for  all  that,  I  am  certain  the  poor  creature 
has  been  honest  hitherto,  and  deserves  help.  She  is  committexi  to 
prison  for  stealing,  and  I  promised  her  I  would  look  to  her  children  ; 
so  I  have  been  to  see  them,  and  took  them  to  the  Children's  Keiugo 
that  you  were  kind  enough  to  subscribe  to,  Miss  Liddell.  To-morrow 
we  must  do  what  we  can  for  the  mother.  I  imagine  it  is  worse  than 
death  to  her  to  be  put  in  prison." 

"I  do  not  wonder  at  it,"  ejaculated  Miss  Payne.'  "And  in 
spite  of  Avhat  you  say,  Bertie,  I  should  not  like  to  give  any  mater- 
ials to  be  made  up  by  a  woman  who  deliberately  stole  in  broad  day- 
light." 

"I  "do  not  see  that  the  light  made  any  difference,"  retxirned 
Bertie  ;  and  they  plunged  into  a  warm  discussion.  Katherine  soon 
lost  the  sense  of  what  they  were  saying.  Her  heart  v/as  throb- 
bing as  if  a  sudden  stunning  blow  had  been  dealt  her, 
and  the  words,  "  Theft  is  theft,  whatever  the  circumstances  that 
seem  to  extenuate  it,"  beat  as  if  with  a  sledge-hammer  on  her 
brain. 

If  for  a  theft,  value  perhaps  sixpence,  this  poor  woman,  who  had 
been  driven  to  it  by  the  direst  necessity,  was  exposed  to  trial,  to 
the  gaze  of  careless  lookers-on,  to  loss  of"^character,  to  the  exposure 
of  hi'r  sore  want,  to  the  degradation  of  imprisonment,  what  should 
be  awarded  to  her,  Katherine  Jjiddell,  an  educatixl  gentlewoman,  foi 
sti'aling  a  large  fortune  from  its  rightful  owner,  and  that,  too,  under 
no  pressure  of  immediate  distress P  True  she  firmly  l)elieved  thai 
had  her  uncle  not  been  struck  down  by  de^th  he  would  have  left  hef 
a  large  portion  of  it ;  that  she  had  a  better  right  to  it  than  a  stranger. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  113 

Still  that  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  she  was  a  thief.  If  every  one 
thus  dared  to  infringe  the  rights  of  others,  what  law,  wiv>vt  security 
would  remain  ? 

These  ideas  had  never  quite  left  her  since  the  day  she  had  writtei; 
"Manuscript  to  be  destroyed"  on  the  fatal  little  parcel,  which  had 
been  ever  with  her  during-  her  various  journey ings  since.  Monj 
than  once  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  destroy  it,  but  some  in 
fluence— some  terror  of  destroying  this  expression  of  what  her  unci** 
once  wished— had  stayed  her  hand  ;  her  courage  stopped  there.  Per- 
haps a  faint  foreshadowing  of  some  future  act  of  restitution  causett 
this  reluctance,  unknown  to  herself,  but  certainly  at  present  no 
such  possibility  dawned  upon  her.  She  felt  that  she  held  her 
projKjrty  chiefly  in  trust  for  others,  especially  her  nephews.  Often 
she  had  forg'otten  her  secret  during  her  mother's  lifetime,  but  the 
consciousness  of  it  always  returnSl  with  a  sense  of  being  out  of 
moral  harmony,  which  made  her  somewhat  fitful  in  her  conduct, 
particularly  as  regarded  her  expenditure,  being  sometimes  tempted 
to  costly  purchases,  and  anon  shrinking  from  outlay  as  though  not 
entitled  to  spend  the  money  Avhich  was  nominally  hers.  Nathan's 
parable  did  not  strike  more  humiliating  conviction  to  Israel's  erring 
king  than  Bertie  Payne's  "  ower  true  tale."  At  length  she  mastered 
tii.'se  painful  thoughts,  and  sought  relief  from  them  in  speech." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  doing  for  this  poor  woman?"  she  asked, 
taking  a  screen  to  shelter  her  face  fi'om  the  fire  and  obs3rvation. 

"  I  Iiave  not  settled  details  in  my  own  mind  yet."  he  said  ;  "but 
as  soon  as  she  is  released  I  must  get  her  into  a  n  nv  n.'ighborhood 
and  redeem  her  sewing-machine.  Then,  if  w(^  c  an  get  her  work 
and  he!]>  h  ;r  till  she  begins  to  earn  a  little,  she  may  get  on." 

"Pray  I  ■'^^ 'n '.  help  irT  this,"  said  Katherine,  earnestly.  "I  live 
quite  a  :;i'li;.s!i  life,  and  I  should  be  thankful  if  you  will  let  me  fur- 
nish what  money  you  require." 

"Thai:  I  shallVith  great  thankfulness.  But,  Miss  Liddell,  if  yon 
arc  anxious  to  Hnd  interesting  woi*k,  why  not  come  and  see  "our 
Children's  Refiigo  nnd  the  schools  connected  with  it  ?  Then  there  is 
an  association  for  advancing  small  sums  to  workman  in  time  of 
sickness,  or  to  redeem  their'tools,  which  is  athliated  to  a  ladies' visit- 
ing club,  the  members  of  which  make  themselves  acquainted 
personally  with  the  men  and  their  families." 

"I  shall  be  most  delighted  to  go  with  you  to  both,  but  I  do  not 
think  I  could  do  any  good  myself.  I  am  so  reluctant  to  preach  to 
poor  people,  Avho  have  so  much  more  experience,  so  much  more  real 
knowk'dge  of  life,  tiian  I  have,  merely  because  they  mr  poor." 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  do  so,  but  I  think  personal  contact  with 
the  people  you  relieve  is  good  both  for  those  benefited  and  their  bene- 
factor." 

"I  suppose  it  is  ;  and  those  poor  old  people  who  cannot  read  or 
are  l)lina,  I  am  quite  willing  to  read  to  them  if  they  like  it." 

"I  can  find  plenty  for  you  to  do.  Miss  Liddell,"  Bertie  was  begin- 
ning when  his  sister  broke  in  with  : 

"This  is  quite  too  bad,  Bertie.  You  know  I  will  not  have  yon 
dragging  my  young  friends  to  catch  all  sorts  of  disorders  iu  the 
Blums.    You  must  be  content  with  Miss  Liddeirs  monev'' 


114  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Miss  Payne,  I  really  do  wish  to  see  something*  of  the  work  on 
which  your  brother  is  eng"a^ed,  and— forgive  me  if  I  seem  obstinate 
— I  am  resolved  to  help  him  if  I  can." 

The  result  of  the  conversation  was  that  the  greater  portion  of  the 
contents  of  Miss  Liddell's  purse  was  transferred  to  Bertie's,  and  he 
left  them  in  high  spirits,  having  arranged  to  call  for  Katherine  the 
next  day  in  order  to  escort  her  to  the  Children's  Refugee  and  some 
other  institutions  in  which  he  took  an  interest. 

From  this  time  for  several  weeks  Katherine  was  greatly  occupied 
in  the  benevolent  undertakings  of  her  new  friend.  The  endless  need, 
the  degradations  of  extreme  poverty,  the  hopeless  condition  of  such 
masses  of  her  fellow-creatures,  depressed  her  beyond  description. 
Sh  e  would  gladly  have  given  to  her  uttermost  farthing,  but  it  would 
be  a  mere  drop  in  the  ocean  of  misery  around. 

"  Even  if  we  could  supply  their  every  want,  and  g^ive  each  family 
a  decent  home,"  she  said  to  Bertie  one  evening  as  she  walked  back 
with  him,  "  they  would  not  know  how  to  keep  it  or  to  enjoy  it.  If 
the  men,  and  the  women  too,  have  not  the  tremendous  necessity  to 
labor  that  they  may  live,  they  relax  and  become  mere  brutes.  'We 
must,  above  all  things,  educate  them." 

"  Yes,  education  is  certainly  necessary  ;  but  the  most  ignorant 
being  who  has  laid  hold  on  the  Rock  of  Ages,  who  has  recened  the 
spirit  of  adoption  whereby  he  can  cry,  'Abba,  Father  !'  has  a  means 
of  elevation  and  refinement  beyond  all  that  books  and  art  can  teach." 
cried  Bertie,  with  more  warmth  than  he  usually  allowed  himself  to 
show, 

"You  believe  that?  I  cannot  say  I  do.  We  need  other  means  of 
moral  and  intellectual  life  besides  spiritualism.  At  least  I  have  tried 
to  be  relii^-ious,  but  I  always  get  wecry  " 

"That  is  only  because  you  nave  not  fouiid  the  straight  and  true 
road,"  said  Bertie,  earnestly.  "Pray,  my  dear  Miss  Liddell— pray, 
and  ligiit  will  be  given  you." 

"  Thank  you— yon  are  very  g"ood,"  murmured  Katherine.  "At 
all  events,  though  we  can  do  but  little,  it  is  a  comfort  to  help  some 
of  those  ]TOor  creatures,  especially  the  children  and  old  people." 

"Jt  is,"  he  returned.  "And  if  it  be  consolatory  to  minister  to 
their  jih\  sical  wants,  hoAv  much  more  to  feed  their  immortal  souls  !" 

Katherine  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  said:  "It  is 
impossible  they  can  think  much  about  their  souls  when  they  suffer 
so  keenly  in  tlieir  bodies.  Poverty  and  privation  which  destroy 
Bfilf-respect  cannot  allow  of  spiritual  aspiration.  Is  it  to  be  alwavs 
li!ce  this— one  class  steeped  in  luxury,  the  other  grovelling  in  criiel 
want?" 

"  Our  Lord  says,  '  Ye  have  the  poor  always  with  you,' "  returned 
Bertie.  "  Nor  can  we  hope  to  see  the  curse  of  original  sin  lifted 
from  life  here  below  until  the  great  manifestation  ;  in  short,  till 
Shiloh  come. " 

"  Do  you  think  so?  I  do  not  like  to  think  that  Satan  is  too  strong 
for  God,"  said  Katherine,  thoughtfully, 

Bertie  replied  bv  exhorting-  her  earnestly  not  to  trust  to  mere  human 
reason,  to  accept  the  infallible  word  of  God,  "  and  so  find  safety  and 
rc^t."    Katherine  did  not  reply. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  115 

"I  think  von  conld  help  me  in  a  diflBcult  case,"  said  Bertie,  a  few 
days  after  this  conversation. 

'  Indeed !"  said  Katharine,  lookino-  up  from  the  book  she  was 
reading-  by  the  fire  after  dinner.     "  What  help  can  I  possibly  give?" 

**  Hear  my  story,  and  you  will  see." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  if  I  can  help  you.     Pray  g-o  on." 

"You  know  Dodd,  the  porter  and  foctotum  at  the  Children's 
Kefug-e  ?  Well,  Dodd  has  a  mother,  a  very  respectable  old  dame, 
who  keeps  a  very  mild  sweety  shop,  and  also  sells  newspapiTs,  etc. 
Mrs.  Dodd,  besides  these  sources  of  wealth,  lets  lodg-ings,  and  seems 
to  get  on  pretty  well.  Now  Dodd  came  to  me  in  some  distress,  and  ' 
said,  '  Would  you  be  so  g"ood,  sir,  as  to  see  mother  ?  she  wants  a 
word  with  you  bad,  very  bad. '  I  of  course  said  I  was  very  ready 
to  hear  what  she  had  to  say.  So  I  called  at  the  little  shop,  which  I 
often  pass.  I  found  the  old  lady  in  g-reat  trouble  about  a  young 
woman  who  had  been  lodging  with  her  for  some  time.  She,  Mrs. 
Dodd,  did  not  know  that  her  lodger  was  absolutely  ill,  but  she 
scarcely  eats  anything,  she  never  went  out,  she  sometimes  sat  up 
half  the  night.  Hitherto  she  had  paid  her  rent  regularly,  but  on 
last  rent-day  she  had  said  she  could  only  pay  two  weeks  more,  after 
which  she  supposed  she  had  better  go  to" the  workhouse.  When  first 
she  came  she  used  to  go  out  looking  for  Avork,  but  that  ceased,  and 
she  seemed  in  a  half-conscious  state.  As  I  was  a  charitable  gentle- 
man, would  I  go  and  speak  to  her  ?  Well,  rather  reluctantly,  I 
did.  I  went  upstairs  to  a  dreary  back  room,  and  found  a  decidedly 
lady-like  young  woman,  neatly  dressed  enough,  but  ghastly  white 
with  dull  eyes.  She  seemed  to  be  dusting  some  books,  but"  looked 
too  weary  to  do  much.  She  was  not  surprised  or  moved  in  any  way 
at  seeing  me.  When  I  apologized  for  intruding  upon  her,  she 
murmured  that  I  was  very  good.  Then  I  asked  if  1  could  help  her 
in  any  way.  She  thanked  me,  but  suggested  nothing.  When  I 
pressed  her  to  express  her  needs,  she  said  that  life  was  not  worth 
working  for,  but  that  she  suppsed  they  would  give  her  something 
to  do  in  the  workhouse,  and  she  would  do  it.  As  for  seeking'  work, 
she  could  not,  that  she  was  a  failure,  and  '--  ■•  cared  not  to  trouble 
others.    I  was  quite  baffled.    She  was  so  q  nd gentle,  and  spoke 

with  such  refinement,  that  I  was  deeply  interested.  1  called  again 
this  morning,  and  she  would  hardly  answer  me.  As  she  is  young 
(not  a  great  deal  older  than  yourself),  perhaps  a  lady— a  woman- 
might  win  her  confidence.  She  seems  to  have  been  a  dressmaker. 
Could  you  not  offer  her  some  employment,  and  draw  her  from  the 
extraordinary  lethargy  which  .seems  to  dull  her  faculties  ?  No  mind 
can  hold  out  against  it ;  she  will  die  or  become  insane. " 

"  It  is  very  strange.  I  should  be  very  glad  to  help  her,  but  I  feel 
afraid  to  attempt  anything,  I  shall  be  so  awkward.  What  can  I 
say  to  begin  with  ?" 

"  Your  offering  her  wo'  ild  make  an  opening.    Do  try.   J  am 

sure  her  case  needs  a  -  delicate  touch." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,''  baid  Katherine.  "It  all  sounds  terribly  in- 
teresting.   Shall  I  go  to-morrow?" 

"  Yes,  by  all  means.  I  am  so  very  much  obliged  to  you.  I  feel 
you  will  succeed." 


116  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure." 

The  next  day,  a  drizzling  damp  morning-,  Katherine,  feeling'  un- 
usually nervoijs,  was  quite  ready  when  Bertie  called  for  her.  The 
drive  to  Camden  Town  seemed  v-ery  long,  but  it  came  to  an  end  at 
last,  all  the  sooner  because  Bertie  stopped  the  cab  some  little  way 
M'ay  from  the  sweety  shop. 

"I  have  brought"^ a  young  lady  to  see  your  invalid,"  said  Bertie, 
introducing  Katherine^ to  Mrs.  Dodd,  a  short  broad  old  lady,  with  a 
shawl  neatly  pinned  over  her  shoulders,  a  snowy  white' cap  with 
black  ribbons,  and  a  huge  pair  of  spectacles,  over  which  she  seemed 
always  trying  to  look. 

"  I'm  sure  It's  that  kind  of  you,  sir.  And  1  am  glad  vou  have 
come.  The  poor  thing  has  been  ottering  me  a  nice  black  dress  this 
morning-  to  let  her  stay  on.  It's  the  last  decent  thin4-  sh;;  has.  I 
expect  she  has  been  just  living  on  her  clothes  I'll  go  and  tell  her. 
Mavbe  miss  will  come  after  me,  so  as  not  to  give  ner  time  to  say 
no  ?" 

Katherine  cast  a  troubled  look  at  Bertie.  "  Don't  wait  for  me," 
she  said  ;  "  your  time  is  always  so  precious.  I  dare  say  I  can  get  a 
cab  for  myself."  And  she  followed  Mrs.  Dodd  up  a  steep  narrow 
dark  stair. 

"Here  is  a  nice  lady  come  to  see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Dodd,  in  a  sooth- 
ing tone  suited  to  an  infant  or  a  limatic. 

"  No,  no  ;  Idon't  want  any  lady  ;  Iwould  rather  not  see  any  lady," 
cried  a  voice  naturally  sweet-toned,  but  now  touched  with  shVill 
terror.  Curiously  enough,  thistokenof  fear  gave  Katherine  courage. 
Here  was  some  poor  soul  wanting  comfort  sorely, 

"  Do  not  forbid  me  to  come  in,"  she  said,  walking  boldly  into  the 
room,  and  addressing  the  inmate  with  a  kind  bright  smile.  "I 
verv  much  want  some  needle-work  done,  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  you 
will  undertake  it."  While  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Dodd  retired  and  softly 
closed  the  door.  Katherine  found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  lady- 
like-looking young  woman,  small  and  slight— slight  even  to  extrenie 
thinness— fair-skinned,  with  large  blue  eyes,  delicate  features,  a 
quantity  of  fair  hair  carelessly  coiled  up,  and  with  white  cheeks. 
The  strange  pallor  of  her  trembling  lips,  the  despair  in  her  eyes,  the 
shrinking,  hunted  look  of  face  and  figure,  almost  frisrhtened  her 
visitor.  "  1  hope  you  are  not  vexed  with  me  for  coming  in,"  falt(u*ed 
Katherine,  deferentially  ;  "but  they  said  you  wanted  employment, 
and  1  should  like  to  give  you  some  You  must  be  ill,  you  look  so 
pale.     Can  I  not  be  of  some  use  to  you  ?" 

The  girl's  pale  cheek  flushed  as,  partially  recovering  herself,  she 
stood  up  holding  the  back  of  her  chair,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor  ,- 
.she  seemed  endeavoring  to  speak,  but  the  words  did  not  come  At 
last,  in  a  low,  hesitating  voice  ;  "  You  are  too  good.  I  have  tried  to 
find  work  vainly  ;  now  I  do  not  think  I  have  the  force  to  do  any." 
The  color  faded  away  from  the  poor  sunken  cheeks,  and  the  eyes 
hid  them.selves  pex-sistently  under  the  downcast  lids. 

"I  am  sure  you  are  very  weak,"  returned  Katherine,  tenderlj'-, 
for  there  was  something  inexpressiblj'  touching  in  the  hopelespne'ss 
of  the  stranger's  aspect.  "  But  some  good  food  and  the  prospect  of 
employment  will  set  you  up.     When  you  are  a  little  stronger  and 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  117 

know  me  better  you  will  perhaps  tell  me  how  Mr.  Payne  and  I  can 
best  help  you.  We  all  want  each  other's  help  at  times  ;  and  life 
must  not  be  thrown  away,  you  know.  I  do  not  Avish  to  intrude  upon 
you,  but  you  see  we  are  nearly  of  an  ag-e,  and  we  ought  to  under- 
stand and  help  each  otlier.  It'  is  my  turn  now  ;  it  may  be  yours  by- 
and-by." 

"  Mine  !"  with  unspeakable  bitterness. 

"  Do  sit  down, "  said  Katherine,  who  felt  her  tears  very  near  her 
eyes,  "  and  I  will  sit  by  you  for  a  little  while.  Why,  you  are  unfit 
to  stand,  and  you  are  so  cold  !"  She  pulled  off  her  g-loves,  and  tak- 
ing- one  of  the  poor  girl's  hands  in  both  her  own  soft  warm  ones, 
chafed  it  g-ently.  No  doubt  practically  charitable  people  would 
smile  indulgently  at  Katherine's  enthusiastic  sympathy ;  but  she 
was  new  to  such  work,  and  felt  that  she  had  to  deal  with  no  common 
subject.  Whether  it  was  the  tender  tone  or  the  kindly  touch,  but 
the  hai-d  desperate  look  softened,  and  big  tears  began  to  roll  down, 
and  soon  she  was  weeping  freely,  quietly,  while  she  left  her  hand  in 
Katherine's,  who  held  it  in  silence,  feeling  how  the  whole  slight 
frame  shook  with  the  effort  to  control  herself. 

At  leno'th  Katherine  rose  and  went  downstairs  to  take  counsel  with 
Mrs.  Dodd.  "She  seems  quite  unable  to  recover  herself.  Ought  she 
not  to  have  a  little  wine  or  something?" 

"Yes,  miss:  it's  just  that  she  wants.  She  is  nigh  starved  to 
death." 

"  Have  you  any  wine  ?" 

"  Well,  no,  miss  ;  but  there's  a  tavern  round  the  corner  where 
you  can  get  very  good  port  from  the  wood.  I'll  send  the  girl  for  a 
pint." 

"  Pray  do,  and  quickly,  and  some  biscuits  or  something ;  here  is 
some  money.    What  is  her  name  ?" 

"  Trant— Miss  Trant,"  returned  Mrs.  Dodd,  knowing  who  her  in- 
terrogator meant.  "  Leastways  we  always  called  her  miss,  for  she 
is  quite  the  lady." 

Katherine  hurried  back,  and  found  Miss  Trant  lying  back  in  her 
chair  gi-eatly  exhausted.  With  instinctive  tact  Katherine  assumed 
an  air  of  authority,  and  insisted  on  her  patient  eating  some  biscuits 
soaked  in  wine. 

Presently  Miss  Trant  sat  up,  and,  as  if  with  an  effort  raised  her 
eyes  to  Katherine's.  "  I  am  not  worth  so  much  trouble,"  she  said. 
"  You  deserve  that  I  should  obey  you.  It  is  all  I  can  do  to  show 
gratitude.  If,  then,  you  will  be  content  with  very  slow  work,  I  will 
tliankfully  do  what  you  wish  ;  but  I  must  have  time." 

"So  you  shall,"  cried  Katherine,  delightedly.  "You  shall  have 
plenty  of  time  to  make  me  a  dress  ;  that  will  be  more  amusing  than 
plain  work.  I  will  bring  you  the  material  to-morrow,  and  if  you 
lit  me  well,  you  know,  it  may  lead  to  a  great  business  ;"  and  she 
smiled  pleasantly. 

' '  What  is  your  name  ?"  asked  the  patient,  feebly.  Katherine  told 
her.    "  You  are  so  good,  you  make  me  resigned  to  live." 

"  Do  you  care  to  read?" 

"  I  used  to  love  it ;  but  I  have  no  books,  nor  could  I  attend  to  th© 
sense  of  a  page  if  I  had." 


118  A  CROOKED   PATH, 

"If  you  sit  hero  without  book  or  work,  I  do  not  wonder  at  your 
being-  half  dead." 

"  Not  nearly  half  dead  yet ;  dying  by  inches  is  a  terribly  long 
process.     I  am  dreadfully  strong. " 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  you  if  vou  talk  like  that.  Well,  I  will  bring 
you  some  books — indeed,  I  will  send  you  some  at  once  if  you  will 
promise  to  read  and  divert  your  thoug-hts.  To-morrow  afternoon  I 
will  come,  you  shall  takci  my  measure  (1  like  to  be  made  to  look  nice), 
and  you  shall  be^'iu  ag'ain." 

"  Bci^in  ai^ain  !    Me  !    That  would  be  a  miracle." 

" Now  try  and  get  a  little  sleep,"  said  Katheriue,  "your  eyes  look 
so  weary.  You  want  to  stop  thinking,  and  only  sleep  can  still 
thought.  When  you  wake  you  shall  find  some  of  the  new  magazines, 
and  you  must  try  and  attend  to  them." 

"  I  will,  for  your  sake." 

"  Good-by,  then,  till  to-morrow  ;"  and  having  pressed  her  hand 
kindly,  Kathorine  departed. 

It  was  q'lite  a  triumph  for  Katherine  to  report  her  success  to 
Bertie  that  evening.  Kiss  Payne  rather  shook  ner  head  over  the 
whole  aflair. 

"  I  must  say  it  puts  me  on  edge  altogether  to  hear  you  two  rejoic- 
ing over  this  young  woman's  cundescension  in  accepting  the  work 
vou  lay  at  her  feet,  while  such  crowds  of  starving  wretches  are 
begging  and  praying  for  something  to  do  ;  and  here  is  a  mysterious 
young  woman  with  lady -like  manners  and  remarkable  eyes,  taken 
up  allat  once  because  she  won't  eat  and  refuses  to  speak.  It  isn't 
just.  I  suspect  there  is  something  in  her  past  she  does  not  like  to 
tell." 

"Your  resume  of  the  facts  makes  Mr.  Payne  and  me  seem  rather 
foolish,"  said  Katherine.  "Yet  I  am  convinced  she  is  worth  helping, 
and  that  no  common  methods  will  do  to  restore  to  her  any  relish  for 
life.  She  interests  me.  I  may  be  throwing  away  my  time  and 
money,  but  I  will  risk  it." 

"It  is  hard  to  say,  of  course,  whether  she  is  a  deserving  object  or 
not,"  added  Bertie,'  thoughtfully  ;  "  and  I  have  been  taken  in  more 
than  once." 

"  More  than  once?"  echoed  his  sister  in  a  peculiar  tone. 

"  Still,  I  feel  with  Miss  Liddell  that  this  girl's,  Rachel  Trant's,  isnot 
a  common  case,"  continued  Bertie. 

" Her  very  name  is  sugo-estive  of  grief,"  said  Katherine,  "and 
she,  too,  refuses  to  be  comforted.  I  am  sure  she  Avill  tell  me  her 
story  later.  Her  landlady  says  she  never  receives  or  sends  a  letter, 
and  does  not  seem  to  have  a  creature  belonging  to  her.  Such  deso- 
lation is  appalling." 

"And  snows  there  is  something  radically  wrong,"  added  Miss 
Payne. 

"  I  acknowledge  that  it  has  a  dubious  appearance,"  said  Bertie, 
and  turned  the  conversation. 

Katherine  was  completely  taken  out  of  herself  bv  the  interest 
and  curiosity  excited  by  her  meeting  with  Rachel  Trant.  She 
visited  her  daily,  and  saw  that  she  was  slowly  reviving.  She  took 
a  wonderful  interest  in  the  dress  which  K9,therine  had  given  her 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  119 

to  make,  and,  moreover,  succeeded  in  fitting-  her  admirably.  She 
was  evidently  weak  and  unequal  to  exertion,  yet  she  worked  with 
surprising'  dilig'ence.  Her  manner  was  very  grave  and  collected — 
respectful,  yet  always  ready  to  respond  to  Katherine's  effort  to  draw 
her  out. 

Tlie  subject  on  which  she  spoke  most  readily  was  the  books  Kath- 
erine  lent  her.  Her  taste  was  decidedly  intellig'ent  and  rather  solid.. 
To  the  surprise  of  her  young*  benefactress,  she  .expressed  a  distaste 
for  novels  — stories,  as  she  called  them.  "  I  used  to  care  for  nothing- 
else,"  she  said  ;  "but  they  pain  me  now."  She  expressed  herself 
like  an  educated,  even  refined,  woman ;  and  though  she  said 
very  about  gratitude,  it  showed  in  every  glance,  in  the  very 
tone  of  her  voice,  and  in  her  ready  obedience  to  whatever 
wish  Katherine  expressed.  The  greatest  sacrifice  was  evidently 
compliance  with  her  new  friend's  suggestion  that  she  should  take 
exercise  and  breathe  fresh  air. 

Mis.''  Payne,  after  critically  examining  Katherine's  new  garment, 
declared  it  really  Avell  made,  inquired  the  cost,  and  finally  decided 
that  she  would  have  an  every -day  dress  for  herself,  and  th'at  "Mi.ss 
Trant"  should  make  it  up.  Thek  Katlierine  presented  the  elegant 
young  woman  who  waited  on  her  with  a  gown,  promising  to  pay  for 
the  making  if  she  employed  her  protegee. 

"  Miss  Trant "  could  not  conceal  her  reluctance  to  come  so  far 
from  the  wilds  of  Camden  Town  ;  but  she  came,  closely  muttied  in  a 
thick  gauze  veil,  doubtless  to  guard  against  cold  in  the  chill  March 
evening.  Katherine  was  immensely  pleased  to  find  that  both  gowns 
gave  satisfaction,  though  the  "  eleg-^ant  young  woman's  "  praise  was 
cautious  and  oualified. 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

RECOGNITION. 

"After  all,  life  is  inexhaustible,"  said  Katherine. 

She  was  spciking  to  Rachel  Trant,  who  had  laid  aside  her  work  to 
sp('a!<  with  the  g-ood  friend  who  had  come,  as  she  often  did,  to  see 
how  slie  was  going  on  and  to  cheer  her. 

"  Life  is  very  cruel,"  ske  returned.  **  Neither  sorrow  nor  repent- 
ance can  alter  its  pitiless  law. 

"  Still,  there  are  compensations."  Katherine  did  not  exactlv  think 
what  she  was  saying  ;  her  mind  was  filled  with  the  desire  of  know- 
ing her  interlocutor's  story. 

"  Compensations  !"  echoed  Rachel.  "Not  for  those  who  deserve 
to  su!1'('L|nor,  indeed,  often  for  the  innocent.  I  don't  think  we  often 
find  viv"^/nnished  and  virtue  rewarded  in  history  and  lives— true 
stories,  I  mean— as  we  do  in  novels." 

Katherine  did  not  reply  at  once  ;  she  thought  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  looking  full  into  Rachel's  eyes,  said  :  "I  wonder  how  you  came 
to  be  a  dressmaker  ?  You  have  read  a  great  diial  for  a  girl  wlio 
must  have  haid  her  hands  full  all  day.  I  am  not  asking-  this  from 
idle  curiosity,  but  from  real  interest. 


120  A  CROOKED  PATa 

"I  mav  well  believe  you.  Ishould  liketo  tell  youmuch ;  but—"  She 
paused  and  grew  very  white  for  a  second,  her  lips  trembling,  and  a 
troubled  look  coming  into  her  eyes.  "  I  always  loved  reading,"  she 
resumed ;  "  it  has  been  almost  my  only  pleasure,  though  1  was  ap- 
prenticed to  a  milliner  and  dressmaker  when  little  more  than  six- 
teen. Then  I  went  to  work  with  another,  a  very  great  person  in  hf^r 
way,  and  I  like  the  work.  Still  I  used  to  think  I  was  a  sort  of  lady  ; 
^y  poor  mother  certainly  was."  ..     ,    , 

"I am  sure  of  it,"  cried  Katherine,  impulsively.    "I  quite  feel 

that  you  are."  ,  ..,,•• 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Rachel,  in  a  very  low  voice,  the  color  rising 
to  her  pale  cheek.  "  My  mother  was  so  sweet  and  pretty,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  but  so  sad  !  I  was  an  orphan  at  ten  years  old,  and  then  a 
verv  stiff,  severe-looking  woman,  the  sister  of  my  father,  had  charge 
of  me.  I  was  sent  to  a  school,  a  kind  of  institution,  not 
exactly  a  charity  school,  for  1  know  something  was  paid  for 
me  It  was  a  very  cold  sort  of  place,  but  I  was  not  unhappy  there. 
I  had  playfellows— some  kind,  some  spiteful.  One  of  the  governesses 
was  very  good  to  me,  and  used  to  give  me  books  to  read.  Had  she 
remained,  things  might  have  been  very  different ;  but  she  left  long 
before  I  did.  The  rare  holidays  Avhen  I  was  permitted  to  visit  my 
father's  sister  were  terrible  davs  to  me.  She  could  not  bear  to  see 
me  I  felt  it.  She  seemed  to  think  my  very  existence  was  an 
offence.  I  was  ashamed  of  living  in  her  presence.  Of  my  father  I 
have  a  very  faint  recollection.  He  died  abroad,  and  I  remember 
being  on  board  ship  for  a  long  time  with  my  mother.  When  I  was 
sixteen  my  father's  sister  sent  for  me,  and  told  me  that  the  money 
mv  mother  left  was  nearly  exhausted,  and  what  remained  ought  to 
provide  me  with  some  trade  or  calling  by  which  I  could  earn  my 
own  bread ;  that  she  did  not  think  I  was  clever  enough  to  be  a  gover- 
ness so  she  advised  my  to  apprentice  myself  to  a  dressmaker.  I 
had  seen  enough  of  teaching  in  school,  so  I  took  her  advice.  At  the 
same  time  she  gave  me  some  papers  my  mother  had  left  for  me. 
Theii  fully  explained  why  mv  existence  was  an  offence— why  I  be- 
lono-ed  to  nobody.  It  was  a  bitter  hour  when  I  read  mv  dear 
mofher's  miserable  storv.  I  felt  old  from  that  day.  Well,  I  thanked 
mv  father's  sister— mind  you,  she  was  not  my  aunt— for  what  she 
h^  done,  and  promised  she  should  never  more  be  troubled  with  me. 
I  have  kept  my  word."         ,    ,  ^    ,,       .  ^         r  a   y     ^^■ 

Katherine,  infinitely  touched  by  the  picture  of  sorrow  and  loneli- 
ness this  brief  story  conjured  up,  took  and  pressed  the  thin  quivering 
hand  that  played  nervouslv  with  a  thimble.  Rachel  glanced  at  her 
ouicklv,  compressed  her  lips  for  an  instant,  and  went  on  : 

"I  will  try  and  tell  vou  all.  You  ought  to  know.  As  far  as  work 
went  I  did  verv  well. '  I  loved  to  handle  and  drape  beautiful  stuffs— 
I  eniov  color— and  it  pleased  me  to  ht  the  pretty  girls  and  line  ladies 
who  came  to  our  show-rooms.  It  was  even  a  satisfaction  to  make 
the  plain  ones  look  better.  I  should  have  made  friends  more 
easilv  with  my  companions  but  for  the  knowledge  of  what  I  wa.s. 
Even  this  I  might  have  got  over -I  am  not  naturallv  morbid-but  I 
could  not  share  their  chatter  and  jests,  or  care  for  their  love  affairs. 
Ofhey  were  not  bad,  poor  things !  but  simply  ordinary  girls  of  a  class 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  121 

to  which  it  would  have  been,  perhaps,  better  for  me  to  belong*.  With 
my  employers  I  did  fairly  well.  Tney  were  sometimes  just,  some- 
times very  uniust ;  but  when  I  was  out  of  my  time,  and  receiving  a 
salary,  I  founa  I  was  a  valued  employee.  Then  it  came  into  my  mmd 
that  I  should  like  to  found  a  business— a  great  business.  It  seemed 
rather  a  '  vaulting-  ambition  '  for  so  humble  a  waif  as  myself.  But 
I  beg-an  to  save  even  shilling's  and  sixpences.  I  tried  to  kill  my 
heart  with  these  duller,  lower  aims,  it  ached  so  always  for  what  It 
could  not  lind.  I  beg-an  to  think  I  was  growing  so  useful  to  madame 
that  she  might  make  me  a  partner  ;  for  even  in  millinery  mental 
training  is  of  use."  She  stopped,  and  clasping  her  hands,  she  rested 
them  on  her  knee  for  a  few  moments  of  silence,  v/hile  her  brow  con- 
tracted as  if  with  pain.  "It  is  dreadfully  hard  to  go  on !"  she 
exclaimed  at  length,  and  her  voice  sounded  as  if  her  mouth  were 
parched. 

"Then  do  not  mind  now;  some  other  time,"  said  Katherine, 
softly. 

"  No,"  cried  Rachel,  with  almost  fierce  energy  ;  " I  must  finish.  I 
cannot  leave  ?/o it  ignorant  of  my  true  story.""  She  paused  again, 
and  then  went  on  quickly,  in  a  low  tone  :  "  I  don't  think  I  was  ex- 
actly popular— certainly  not  with  the  men  employed  in  the  same 
house.  I  was  thought  cold  and  hard,  and  to  me  they  were  all  utterly 
uninteresting.  One  or  two  of  the  girls  I  liked,  and"  they  were  fond 
of  me."  Another  pause.  Then  she  pushed  on  again  :  "  One  evening 
I  went  out  with  another  girl  and  her  brother- at  least  she  said  he 
was  her  brother— to  see  the  illuminations  for  the  Queen's  birthday. 
In  Pall  Mall  we  got  into  a  crowd  caused  by  a  quarrel  between  two 
drunken  m^^n.  I  was  separated  from  my  companions,  and  one  of 
the  crowd,  also  tipsy,  reeled  against  me.  I  should  have  been 
knocked  down  but  for  a  gentleman  who  caught  me  ;  he  had  just 
come  down  the  steps  from  one  of  the  clubs.  I  thanked  him.  Ho 
kindly  helped  me  to  find  mj'' companions.  He  came  on  with  us 
almost  to  tne  door  of  Madame  Celine's  house.  He  talked  frankly 
and  pleasantly.  Two  days  after  I  was  going  to  the  City  on  madame's 
business.  He  met  me.  He  said  he  had  watched  for  mo.  There  !  I 
cannot  go  into  details.  We  met  repeatedly.  For  the  first  time  in 
ray  life  I  was  sought,  and,  as  I  believed,  warmly  loved.  I  knew  the 
unspeakable  gulf  that  opened  for  me,  but  I  loved  him.  At  last  there 
was'light  and  color  in  my  poverty-stricken  existence."  She  stopped, 
and  a  glow  came  into  her  sad  eyes.  "  I  was  bewildered,  distracted, 
between  the  passion  of  my  heart  and  the  resistance  of  my  reason.  ] 
ceased  to  be  the  efficient  assistant  I  had  been.  I  was  rebuked,  and 
looked  upon  coldly.  Six  months  after  I  had  met  him  first,  I  gave 
madame  warning.  I  said  I  was  going  into  the  country.  So  I  was, 
but  not  alone.  No  one  asked  me  any  questions  ;  no  one  had  a  right. 
I  belonged  to  no  one,  was  responsible  to  no  one,  could  wound  no  one. 
I  was  quite  alone,  and,  oh,  so  hungry  for  a  little  love  and  joy  !" 
Sh(!  paused,  and  then  resumed  rapidly,  "I  was  that  man's  un-wedded 
wife  for  nearly  two  years. "  She  rested  her  arm  on  the  table,  and  hid 
her  face  with  her  hand 

Katherine  listened  with  unspeakable  emotion.  The  eloquent  blood 
flushed  cheek  and  throat  with  a  keen  sense  of  shame.    She  had  read 


122  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

aoA  heard  of  stich  painful  stories,  but  to  be  face  to  face  with  a 
creature  who  had  crossed  the  Rubicon,  overpassed  the  ffreat 
gulf  which  separates  the  sheep  from  the  goats  was  something 
so  unexpected,  so  terrible,  that  she  could  not  restrain  a 
passionate  burst  of  tears.  "Ah,"  she  murmured  at  last,  "you 
were  cruelly  deceived,  no  doubt.  You  are  too  hard  upon  yourself. 
You -"   " 

"No,  Miss  Liddell ;  I  am  trying  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth. 
The  man  I  loved  never  deceivm  me — never  held  out  any  hope 
that  we  could  marry.  He  was  not  rich ;  there  were  impedi- 
ments— what,  I  never  knew.  But  I  thought  such  love  as  he 
{)rofessed,  and  at  the  time  felt  for  me,  would  last  ;  and  so 
ong  as  he  was  mine,  I  wanted  nothing  more.  Have  you 
patience  to  hear  more,  or  have  I  fallen  too  low  to  retain  your 
interest?" 

"Ah,  no !  tell  me  everything." 

"I  was  very  happy— oh,  intensely  happy  for  a  while.  Then  a 
tiny  cloud  of  indifference,  thin  and  shifting  like  morning  mist,  rose 
between  us.  It  darkened  and  lowered.  He  was  a  hasty,  masterful 
man,  but  he  was  never  rough  to  me.  Gradually  I  came  to  see  that 
time  had  changed  me  from  a  joy  to  a  burden.  How  was  it  I 
lived  ?  How  was  it  I  shut  my  eyes  and  hoped  ?  At  last  he  told  me 
he  was  obli^-ed  to  go  abroad,  but  that  he  could  not  take  me  with 
him  ;  and  then  proposed  to  establish  me  in  some  such  undertalving 
as  my  late  employer's.  When  he  said  that,  I  knew  all  was  over  ; 
that  nothing  I  could  do  or  say  would  avail ;  that  I  had  been  but  a 
toy  :  that  he  could  not  conceive  what  my  nature  was,  nor  the  agony 
of  shame,  the  torture  of  rejected  love,  he  was  inflicting.  I  contrivea 
to  keep  silent  and  composed.  I  knew  I  had  no  right  to  complain ; 
I  had  risked  all  and  lost.  I  managed  to  say  we  might  arrange 
things  later,  and  he  praised  me  for  being  a  sensible,  capital  girl. 
I  had  seen  this  coming,  or  I  don't  suppose  I  could  have  so  controlled 
myself.  But  I  could  not  accept  his  terms.  I  had  a  little  money  and 
some  jewels  ;  1  thoii^ht  I  might  take  these.  So  I  wrote  a  few  lines, 
saving  that  I  needed  nothing,  that  he  should  hear  of  me  no  more, 
aiid  I  went  away  out  into  the  dark.  If  I  could  only  have  died 
then  !  I  was  too  great  a  coAvard  to  put  an  end  to  my;  life.  Why  do  I 
try  tosjxiakof  what  cannot  beput  into  words?  Despair  isagrim'thing, 
mid  all  life  had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  for  me.  I  could  not  even 
love  him,  though  I  pined  for  the  creature  I  had  loved,  who  once 
uiiderstood  me,  but  from  whose  heart  and  mind  I  had  vanished 
when  time  dulled  his  first  impression,  and  to  whom  I  became  even 
as  other  women  were.  But  as  I  could  not  die,  I  was  obliged  to 
work,  and  there  was  but  one  way.  I  dreaded  to  be  found  starving 
and  unable  to  give  an  account  of  myself,  so  I  applied  to  one  of  those 
large  general  shops  where  they  neither  give  nor  expect  references. 
There  I  staid  for  some  months,  so  silent,  so  steeled  against  every- 
thing, that  no  one  cared  to  speak  to  me.  I  dare  not  even  think  of 
that  time.  I  do  not  understand  how  I  managetl  to  do  anything.  At 
last  I  grew  dazed,  made  blunders,  and  was  dismissed,  t  wandered 
here.  I  failed  to  find  employment,  and  felt  I  could  do  no  more. 
Still    death  would   not  come.      I   think    my  mind   was   giving 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  123 

way  when  you  came.  Now  am  I  worth  helping,  now  that  you  know 
all?" 

"  Yes.  I  will  do  my  best  for  you.  Suffering  such  as  yours  must 
be  expiation  enough,"  cried  Katherine,  her  eyes  still  wet.  "Put  the 
past  behind  you,  and  hope  for  the  better  days  which  will  come  if  you 
strive  for  them.    But,  oh  !  tell  me,  did  lie  never  try  to  find  you?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  advertisements  in  the  pai^er  which  were  nieaut  for 
me  ;  but  after  a  while  they  ceased,  and  no  doubt  I  was  forgotten. 
I  reaped  what  I  had  sown.  Few  men,  I  imaf;ine,  can  understand 
that  there  are  hearts  as  true,  as  strong*,  as  tenacious,  among  women 
such  as  I  am  as  among  the  irreproachable,  the  i-eaily  good.  I  have 
no  real  right  to  complain  ;  "only  it  is  so  hard  to  live  on  without 
hope  or—"    She  stopped  abruptly. 

"  Hope  will  come,  said  Katherine,  gently;  "and  time  will  re- 
store your  self-respect.  I  should  be  so  glad  to  gee  you  build  up  a 
ncAv  and  better  life  on  the  ruins  of  the  past !  I  am  sure  there  is  in- 
d(;pendence  and  repose  before  you,  if  you  will  but  fold  down  this 
terrible  page  of  your  life  and  never  open  it  ag-ain." 

"  And  can  you  endure  to  touch  me— to  be  to  me  as  you  have 
been  ?"  asked  Rachel,  her  voice  broken  and  trembling. 

Katheriue's  ans'.ver  was  to  stretch  out  her  hand  and  take  that  of 
her  protPjicp,  which  she  held  tenderly.  "  Let  us  never  speak  of  this 
again,"  she  said.  "  Bury  your  dead  out  of  sight.  All  you  have 
told  me  is  sacred  ;  none  shall  ever  know  anything  from  me.  Let  us 
begin  anew.  I  am  certain  you  are  good  arid  true  ;  and  how  can  one 
who  has  never  known  temptation  judge  you?" 

Rachel  bent  h;>r  head  to  kiss  the  fair  hrm  hand  which  held  hers  ; 
then  she  wept  silently,  quietly,  and  said,  softly,  in  an  altered  voice, 
"  I  will  do  -rhaf-ver  you  bid  me  ;  and  while  you  are  so  wonderfully 
good  to  me  I  will  not  despair." 

There  was  an  expressive  silence  of  a  few  moments.  Then  Kather- 
ine began  tTdraw  on  her  gloves,  and  trying  to  stecdy  her  voice 
and  speak  in  her  ordinary  tone,  said : 

"Mr.  Payne  is  going  to  make  you  known  to  a  lady  who  may  bo 
of  great  use  to  you  in  obtaining  customers.  I  have  not  met  her 
myself,  but  should  you  receive  a  note  from  Mrs.  Needham,  pra^-  go 
to  her  at  once.  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  make  a  great 
business  yet.  I  sliould  be  quite  proud' of  it.  Now  I  must  leave  you. 
Promise  me  to  resi.st  unhappy  thoughts.  Try  to  regain  strengiii, 
both  mental  and  pliysical. "  Should  you  see  Mrs.  Needham  before,  f 
come  again,  pray  ask  quite  two-thirds  more  for  making  a  dress  th.iu 
I  paid,  for  both  your  work  and  your  lit  are  excellent." 

With  these  practical  words  Katherine  rose  to  depart.  Rachel  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  door,  and  timidly  took  her  hand.  "  Do  you  under- 
stand," she  said,  " all  you  have  done  for  me?  You  have  given  mo 
back  my  human  heart,  instead  of  the  iron  vise  that  was  pressing  my 
soul  to  "death.  I  will  live  to  be  worthy  of  you,  of  your  intinito 
pity." 

Katherine  had  hardly  recovered  composure  when  she  reached 
home.  The  sad  and  shameful  story  to  which  she  had  listened  had 
not  arrested  the  flow  of  her  sympathy  to  Rachel.  There  was  some- 
thing striking  in  the  strength  that  enabled  her  to  tell  such  a  tal(l 


124  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

with  stem  justice  toward  herself,  without  any  whining  self -exculpa- 
tion. What  a  long"  agony  she  must  have  endured  !  Katherine's 
tears  were  ready  to  flow  afresh  at  the  picture  her  warm  imagination 
conjured  up.  Weak  and  guilty  as  Kachel  was  to  yield  to  .such  a 
temptation,  what  was  her  wrong-doing-  to  that  of  "the  man  who, 
knowing  what  would  be  the  end  thereof,  tempted  her? 

Castleford  was  an  ordinary  comfortable  country  house,  standin^^ 
in  not  very  extensive  g-rounds.  The  scenery  immediately  aroiuid  it 
was  fiat  and  uninteresting-,  but  a  few  miles  to  the  south  it  became 
undulating-,  and  broken  with  pretty  wooded  hollows,  but  north  of  it 
was  a  rich  level  district,  and  as  a*^  hunting-  country  second  only  to 
Leicestershire. 

Colonel  Ormonde  was  a  keen  sportsman,  and  when  he  had  reached 
his  present  g-raile  had  g-ladly  taken  up  his  abode  in  the  old  place, 
which  had  been  let  at  a  hig-h  rent  during  his  term  of  military 
service.  Castleford  was  an  old  place,  thoug-h  the  house  was  com- 
paratively new.  It  had  been  bought  by  Ormonde's  gran  -father,  a 
rich  manufacturer,  who  had  built  the  house  and  made  many  im- 
provements, and  his  representative  of  the  third  generation  was  con- 
sidered quite  one  of  the  country  gentry. 

Colonel  Ormonde  was  fairly  popular.  He  wasnot  obtrusively  hard 
about  money  matters,  but  he  never  neglected  his  own  interests. 
Then  he  appreciated  a  good  glass  of  wine,  and  above  all  he  rode 
straight.  Mrs.  Ormonde  was  adored  by  the  men  and  liked  by  the 
women  of  Clavshire  society,  Colonel  Ormonde  being  considered  a 
lucky  man  to  have  picked  up  a  charming  woman  whose  children 
were  provided  for. 

That  fortunate  individual  was  sitting  at  breakfast  tefe-a-tefe  with 
his  wife  one  dull  foggy  moraing  about  a  month  after  Katherine  Lid- 
dell  had  returned  to  England.  "Another  cup,  please,"  he  said, 
handing  his  in.  Mrs.  Ormonde  was  deep  in  her  letters.  "What  an 
infernal  nuisance  it  is  ! "  he  continued,  looking  out  of  the  window 
nearest  him.  "The  off  daj^s  are  always  soft  and  the  'meet 'days 
hard  and  frosty.  The  scent  would  be  breast-high  to-day."  Mrs. 
Ormonde  made  no  reply.  "  Your  correspondence  seems  uncommon- 
ly interesting  !"  he  exclaimed,  surprised  at  her  silence. 

"  It  is  indeed,"  she  cried,  looking  up  with  a  joyful  and  exultant 
expression  of  countenance.  "Katherine  writes  that  she  has  signed 
a  deed  settling  twenty  thousand  on  Cis  and  Charlie,  the  income  of 
which  is  to  be  paid  to  me  until  they  attain  the  age  of  twenty -one,  for 
their  maintenance,  education,  and  so  forth  :  after  which  any  .sum 
necessary  for  their  establishment  in  life  can  be  raised  or  taken  from 
their  capital,  the  whole  coming  into  their  own  hands  at  the  age  of 
twenty-tive.  Dear  me !  I  hope  they  will  make  me  a  handsome 
allowance  when  they  are  twenty-five.  I  really  think  Katherine 
might  have  remembered  me."  She  handed  'the  letter  to  her 
husband. 

"Well,  little  woman,  you  have  your  innings  now,  and  you  must 
save  a  pot  of  money,"  he  returned,  in  high  glee.  "  What  a  trump 
that  girl  is  !  and,  by  Jove  !  what  lucky  little  beggars  your  boys  are ! 
I  can  tell  you  I  was  desperately  uneasy  for  fear  she  might'^marry 


A  CROOKED  PAXa  125 

some  fellow  before  she  fulfilled  ber  promise  to  you.  Then  you  mig'ht 
have  whistled  for  any  provision  for  your  boys  ;  no  man  Avould  as'ree 
to  give  up  such  a  slice  of  his  wife's  fortune  as  this.  I  know  I  would 
not.  Women  never  have  any  real  sanso  of  the  value  of  money ; 
they  are  either  stin^^y  or  extravagant.  I  am  deuced  g"lad  I  haven't 
to  pay  all  your  milliner's  bills,  my  dear.  I  am  exceeding-ly  g-hid 
Katherine  has  been  so  g'enerous,  but  I'll  be  haug-ed  if  it  is  the  act  of 
a  s  •  sible  woman." 

"Nevermind;  there  is  quite  a  load  oT  my  heart.  I  think  I'll 
have  a  new  habit  from  Woolmerhausen  now." 

*'  Why,  I  g-ave  you  one  onl>-  two  years  ago." 

"Two years  ago!  Why,  that  is  an  age.  And  yoi*  need  not  pay 
for  this  one." 

"I  see  she  says  she  will  pay  us  a  vi&U  if  convenient.  Of  course  it 
is  convenient.  I'll  run  up  to  town  on  Sunday,  and  escort  her  down 
next  day.  The  meet  is  for  Tuesday.  And  mind  vou  make  thing's 
pleasant  and  comfortable  for  her,  Ada,  She  would  be  an  imp:)ri.'int. 
addition  to  our  family.  A  handsome,  spirited  girl  with  a  yood 
fortune  to  dispose  of  would  be  a  feather  in  one's  cap,  I  can  teli 
you." 

"  You'll  find  her  awfully  fallen  o<T,  Ormonde,  and  her  spirits  seem 
quite  gone.  Still  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  her  here.  But  I  do 
not  see  why  you  should  go  fetcli  her.  You  know  Lady  Alice  Mor- 
daunt  is  coming  on  Saturday." 

"  What  does  that  matter?  I  shall  only  be  away  one  evening; 
and  between  you  and  me,  though  Lady  Alice  is  everything-  that  is 
nice  and  correct,  she  is  enough  to  put  the  liveliest  fellow  on  earth  to 
sleep  in  half  an  hour.'' 

"  How  strange  men  are !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ormonde,  gathering  xip 
her  letters  and  putting  them  into  the  pocket  of  her  dainty  lace" and 
muslin  apron.  "  Nice,  gentle,  good  women  never  attract  you ;  you 
only  care  for  bold " 

""Vivacious,  coquettish,  attractive  little  widows,  like  one  I  onca 
knew,"  said  the  Colonel,  laughing,  as  he  carefully  wiped  his  gray 
moustache. 

"You  are  really  too  absurd  !"  she  exclaimed,  sharply.  "  Do  you 
meaii  to  say  I  was  ever  bold?" 

"  No  ;  I  only  mean  to  say  you  are  an  angel,  and  a  deuced  lucky 
angel  in  every  sense  into  the  bargain  !  Now,  have  you  any  coin- 
missions?  J  am  going  to  Monckton  this  morning,  and  I  fancy  the 
dog-cart  will  be  at  the  door.  Where's  the  boy  ?  I'll  lake  hini  and 
nurse  down  to  the  gate  with  me  if  they'll  wrap  up.  Tiie  little  fellow 
is  so  fond  of  a  drive." 

"  My  dear  'Duke !— such  a  morning  as  this  !  Do  you  think  I  vvrould 
let  the  precious  child  out  ?" 

"  Nonsense  !  Do  not  make  a  molly-coddle  of  him.  He  is  as  strong 
as  a  horse.  Send  for  him  anyway.  I  haven't  seen  him  this  morn- 
ing. And  be  sure  you  write' a  proper  letter  to  Katherine  Liddell ; 
you  had  better  let  me  see  it  before  it  ^oes." 

"Indeed  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Do  you  think  I  never  wrote 
a  letter  in  my  life  before  I  knew  you?" 

"  Oh,  go  your  own  way,"  retorted  the  Colonel,  beating  n  y-^'--^^.'  t-j 
save  a  total  rout. 


126  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

In  due  course  Katherine  received  an  effusive  letter  of  thanks, 
and  a  pressing-  invitation  to  come  down  to  Castlefordon  the  following 
Monday,  and  saying'  that  as  the  hunting-  season  was  ahnost  over, 
they  would  be  very  quiet  till  after  luaster,  when  Mrs.  Ormonde  was 
g-oiiif^  to  town  for  a  couple  of  months,  ending*  with  an  assurance 
that  the  dear  boys  were  dying-  to  see  her,  and  that  Colonel  Ormonde 
was  aoing"  to  London  for  the  express  purpose  of  escorting-  her  on  her 
journey. 

"  It  is  certainly  not  necessary,"  observed  Katherine,  with  a  smile, 
"considering- how  accustomed  I  am  to  take  care  of  myself.  Still  it 
is  id ndly  meant,  and  1  shall  accept  the  offer."  This  to  Mi.ss  Payne, 
as  they  "rose  from  luncheon  where  Katherine  had  told  her  the  con- 
tents of  her  letter. 

"Ahem  !  No  doubt  thev  are  anxious  to  show  j'ou  every  attention. 
Would  you  like  to  take  Turner  with  you  ?  I  could  spai-e  her  very 
well."  Turner  was  the  maid  expressly  engaged  to  wait  upon  Miss 
Liddell. 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,  I  want  so  little  waiting  on.  Lady  Alice  Mor- 
daunt  will  be  with  Mrs.  Ormonde,  and  will  be  sure  to  have  a  maid, 
so  another  might  be  inconvenient." 

"My  dear  Miss  Liddell,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  thrust- 
ing advice  upon  you,  1  would  say  that  '  considering '  people 
is  the  very  best  way  to  prevent  their  showing  j-^ou  consider- 
ation." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?    Well,  it  is  really  no  great  matter." 

"  Then  you  shall  not  want  Turner?  Then  I  shall  give  her  a  holi- 
day. Her  mother  or  her  brother  is  ill,  and  she  wants  to  go  home. 
Servants'  relations  always  seem  to  be  ill.  It  must  cost  them  a  good 
deal." 

"No  doubt.  Will  you  come  out  with  me?  I  have  some  shopping 
to  do,  and  your  advice  is  always  valuable." 

"I  shall  be  very  pleased,  and  I  will  say  I  shall  miss  you  when  you 
leave— miss  you  very  much." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Katherine,  gently.  "I  believe  you  will  as 
you  say  so." 

Without  fully  believing  Ada's  rather  exaggerated  expressions  of 
gratitude  and  afifection,  Katherine  was  soothed  and  pleased  by  them. 
She  was  so  truthful  hcr.self  that  she  was  dispo.sed  to  trust  others,  and 
the  h-.'arty  welcome  oflered  her  took  oft"  from  the  sense  of  loneliness 
which  had  long  oppre.ssed  her.  Hers  was  too  healthy  a  nature  to 
encoura^re  morbid  grief.  To  the  last  day  of  her  life  she  remembered 
her  mother  with  tender,  loving  regret ;  but  the  consolation  of  knov*-- 
ing  that  her  later  days  had  been  so  happy,  that  she  had  passed anay 
so  i)eac(^-fully,  did  much  toward  healing  the  wounds  which  Avere  still 
bleeding. 

On  the  appointed  Monday  Colonel  Ormonde  made  his  appearar.ce 
in  the  early  afternoon,  and  fotmd  Katherine  quite  ready  to  start. 
He  was  stouter,  louder,  blutrer,  than  ever.  When  Miss  Payne  was 
introduced  to  him  he  honored  her  with  an  almost  impc^rceptible  bow 
and  a  very  perceptible  stare.  Turning  at  once  to  Katherine,  he  ex- 
claimed : 

"  What !  in  complete  marching  order  already  ?    I  protest  I  never 


A  CKOOKED  PATH.  127 

knew  a  •woman  punctual  before.  But  I  always  saw  you  were  a 
sensible  girl.  No  nonsense  about  you.  Why,  my  wife  told  me  you 
were  looking-  ill.  I  don't  see  it.  At  any  rate  Castleford  air  will  soon 
bring-  back  your  roses." 

"  I  am  feeling  and  looking  better  than  when  I  came  over,  and 
Miss  Payne  has  taken  such  good  care  of  me,"  said  Katherine, 
who  did  "not  like  to  see  the  lady  of  the  house  so  completely  over- 
looked. 

"Ah!  that's  well.  You  know  you  are  too  precious  a  piece 
of  goods  to  be  tampered  with.  I  believe  Bertie  Payne  is  a  nepliew 
of  yours,"  he  added,  addressing  Miss  Payne— "a  young  fellow  who 
was  in  my  regiment  three  or  four  years  ago,  the  Twenty-first 
Dragoon  Guards?" 

"He  is  mv  brother,"  returned  Miss  Payne,  stiffly. 

"  Ah  !  ribpe  he  is  all  right.  Have  scarcely  seen  him  since  he  has 
gone,  not  to  the  dogs,  but  to  the  saints,  which  is  much  the  same 
thing.    Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !" 

"  Indeed  it  is  not,  Colonel  Ormonde !"  cried  Katherine.  "If  every 
one  was  as  good  as  Mr.  Payne,  the  world  would  be  a  different  and  a, 
better  place." 

"Hey!  Have  you  constituted  yourself  his  champion?  Lucky 
dog  !  Come,  my  dear  girl,  we  must  be  going.  Are  you  well  wrapped 
up?  It  is  deuced  cold,  and  we  have  nearly  three  miles  to  drive  from 
the  station." 

He  himself  looked  liked  a  mountain  in  a  huge  fur-lined  coat. 

"6ood-by,  then,  dear  Miss  Payne.  I  suppose  I  shall  not  see  you 
again  for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks." 

"By  George  !  we  sha'n't  let  you  off  with  so  short  a  visit  as  that ! 
Say  three  years.  Come,  march  •  we  haven't  too  much  tim^." 
Throwing  a  brief  "good-morning  "  at  the  "old  maid"  of  uncertain 
position,  the  Colonel  walked  heavily  down-stairs  in  the  wake  of  his 
admired  young  guest. 

Monckton  was  scarcelj'^  four  hours  from  London,  but  when  the 
drive  to  Castleford  w^as  accomplished  there  was  not  too  much  time 
left  to  dress  for  dinner. 

Mrs.  Ormonde  was  aw^aiting  Katherine  in  the  hall,  which  was 
bright  with  lamps  and  fire-li/r'it ;  behind  her  were  her  two  boys. 

When  Katherine  had  been  duly  welcomed,  Mrs.  Ormonde  stood 
aside,  and  the  children  hesitated  a  moment.  Cecil  was  so  much 
grown,  Katherine  hardly  knew  him.  He  came  forward  with  his 
natui-al  assurance,  and  said,  confidently:  "How  d'ye  do,  auntii-? 
You  have  been  a  long  time  coming." 

Charlie  was  more  like  what  he  had  been,  and  less  grown.  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  then  darted  to  Katherine,  and  throwing  his 
arms  round  her  neck,  clung  to  ht'/  lovingly.  She  was  infinitely 
touched  and  delighted.  How  vividly  the  past  came  back  to  her  l~ 
the  little  dusty  house  at  Baysw^ater,  "the  homely  establishment  kept 
afloat  by  her  "dear  mother's  industry,  the  small  study,  and  the  dear 
weary  face  associated  with  it.  How  ardently  she  held  the  child  to 
her  heart !  How  thankfully  she  recognized  that  here  was  something- 
to  cherish  and  to  live  for  !" 

"They  may  come  with  me  to  my  room?"  she  said  to  her 
hostess. 


128  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Oh,  certainly  !— only  if  you  beg-in  that  sort  of  thing  you  will 
never  be  able  to  "-et  rid  of  them." 

"  I  will  risk  it,  said  Katlierine,  as  she  followed  Mrs.  Ormonde 
upstairs  to  a  very  comfortable  room,  where  a  cheerful  fire  blazed  on 
the  hearth. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  find  it  rather  small,  but  I  was  oblig-cd  to  give 
the  best  bedroom  to  Lady  Alice — nohUsse  oblu/e,  you  know.  I  am 
sure  you  will  like  her,  she  is  so  gentle  ;  I  thiiik  her  father  was  very 
glad  to  let  her  come,  as  she  can  see  more  of  her //awe.  They  are  not 
to  be  married  till  the  autumn,  so—  Oh  dear !  there  is  the  second 
bell.  Cis,  run  away  and  tell  Madeline  to  come  and  help  your  auntie 
to  dress  ;  and  you  too,  Charlie ;  you  had  better  go  too." 

"He  may  stay  and  help  me  to  unpack." 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  your  maid,  dear  ?  It  is  just  like  you  to 
leave  her  behind  ;  but  we  could  have  put  her  up ;  and  you  will  miss 
her  dreadfully." 

"  I  do  not  think  either  of  us  has  been  so  accustomed  to  the  atten- 
tions of  a  maid  as  not  to  be  able  to  do  without  one,"  returned  Kath- 
erine,  smiling. 

"  You  know  /  alwajrs  had  a  maid  in  India,"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde, 
with  an  air  of  superiority.  "Don't  be  long  over  your  toilet ;  Or- 
monde's cardinal  virtue  is  punctuality." 

In  spite  of  the  hindrance" of  her  nephew's  help,  Katherine  man- 
aged to  reach  the  drawing-room  before  Lady  Alice  or  the  master  of 
the  house.  Mrs.  Ormonde  was  talking  to  an  elderly  gentleman  in 
clerical  attire  beside  the  fireplace,  and  at  some  distance  a  tail,  digni- 
fied-looking man  was  readin"-  a  newspaper.  Mrs.  Ormonde  was 
most  becomingly  dressed  in  black  satin,  richly  trimmed  with  lace 
and  jet — a  brilliant  contrast  to  Katherine,  in  thick  dull  silk  and 
crape,  her  snowy  neck  looking  all  the  more  softly  white  for  its 
dark  setting :  the  only  relief  to  her  general  blackness  was  the 
-^^4$^^^  light  on  her  glossy,  wavy,  chestnut  brown  hair. 

^To'a  have  been  very  quick,  dear,"saidthehostess.  "I  am  going 
to  send  you  in  to  dinner,"  she  added,  in  a  low  tone,  "with  Mr. 
Errington,  our  neighbor.  He  is  the  head  of  the  great  house  of 
Errington  in  Calcutta,  and  the  Jiartce  of  Lady  Alice  ;  but  Colonel 
Ormonde  must  take  her  in.  Mr.  Errington  !"  raising  her  voice.  The 
gentleman  thus  summoned  laid  down  his  paper  and  came  forward. 
"Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  sister,  Miss  Liddell."  Mr.  Errington 
bowed,  rather  a  stately  bow,  as  he  gazed  with  surprised  interest  at 
the  large  soft  eyes  suddenly  raised  to  his,  then  quickly  averted,  the 
swift  blush  which  swept  over  the  speakin"-  face  turned  toward  him, 
the  indescribable  shrinking  of  the  graceful  figure,  as  if  this  stranger 
dreaded  and  would  fain  avoid  him.  It  was  but  for  a  moment ;  then 
she  was  herself  again,  and  the  door  opening  to  admit  Lady  Alice, 
Errington  hastened  to  greet  her  witli  chivalrous  respect,  and  re- 
mained beside  her  chair  until  Colonel  Ormonde  entered  with  the 
butler,  who  announced  that  dinner  was  ready. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  129 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  THE  TOILS. 

The  drawing-  and  dining-  rooms  at  Castleford  were  at  opposite  sidea 
of  a  larg"e  square  hall,  and  even  in  the  short  transit  between  them 
Errins'ton  felt  instinctively  that  Miss  Liddoll  shrank  from  him.  The 
tips  merely  of  her  black -s-joved  fingers  rested  on  his  arm,  while  she 
kept  as  far  from  him  as  the  len^-th  of  her  ov/n  pormitted.  At  table 
her  host  was  on  h;^r  right,  and  Lady  Alice  opposite,  next  to  the 
rector,  who  was  the  only  invited  g-uest ;  Erring-ton  was  ab.vays  ex- 
pected, and  had  returned  from  a  distant  canvassing  expedition,  for 
the  present  member  for  West  Clayshire  was  believed  to  be  on  the 
point  of  retiring  on  account  of  ill  health,  and  Mr.  Errington  of  Gar- 
ston  Hall,  intended  to  oiler  himself  for  election  to  the  free  and  inde- 
pendent. 

He  had  had  a  fatiguing  day,  but  scarce!}' admitted  to  himself  how 
mxich  more  restful  a  solitary  dinner  would  have  been,  with  a  cigar 
and  some  keen-edged  article  or  luminous  pamphlet  in  his  own  com- 
fortable library  afterward,  than  making  conversation  at  Colonel 
Ormonde's  tal-Ie.  However,  to  slight  the  lady  who  had  promised  to 
be  his  wife  was  impossible,  so  he  exerted  himself  to  be  agreeable. 

The  rector  discussed  some  parish  difficulties  with  his  hostess,  while 
Colonel  Ormond<;,  though  profoundly  occupied  with  his  dinner, 
manao-ed  to  throw  an  ob.servation  fi'om  time  to  time  to  his  young 
neighbors. 

"  Rode  round  by  Brinkworth  Heath  in  two  hours  and  a  half,"  he 
was  saying  to  Lady  Alice,  when  Katherine  listened.  "That  was 
fair  going.  I  did  not  thinlv  you  would  have  g'ot  Mrs.  Ormonde  to 
start  without  an  escort." 

"  We  had  an  escort.  Lord  Francis  Cai'ew  and  Mr.  De  Burgh 
came  over  to  luncheon,  arid  they  rode  with  us." 

"Ha,  Errington  !  you  see  the  result  of  leaving  this  fair  lady's  side 
all  unguarded  !    These  felloAxs  come  and  usurp  your  duties." 

"  Do  you  think  I  should  wish  Lady  Alice  to  forego  any  amuse- 
ment because  1  am  so  unhicky  as  to  be  prevented  from  joining  her  ?" 
returned  Errington,  in  a  de(ip  mellow  voice. 

Katherine  looked  across  the  table  to  see  how  Lady  Alice  took  the 
remark,  but  she  was  rearranging  some  geraniums  and  a  spray  of 
fern  in  her  waistband,  and  did  not  se^m  to  hear.  She  Avas  a  slight 
colorless  girl  of  nineteen,  Avith  regular  f  >atures,  an  unformed  though 
ratlier  graceful  figure,  and  a  dis'inguisli  d  air. 

Errington  caught  the  expi-(ssion  of  his  neighbor's  face  as  she 
glanci'd  at  his jinDcee,  asympatiietic  STuile  parting  her  lips.  It  was  ' 
rarely  that  a  countenance  had  struck  him  so  much,  which  was  prob- 
ably due  to  his  odd  but  strong  impression  that  his  new  acquain- 
tance was  both  startled  and  displeased  at  being  introduced  to  nim— 
an  impression  very  strange  to  Errington,  as  he  was  generally  v^^el- 
comed  by  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  and  especially  of  wonien. 

The  silence  of  Lady  Alice  did  not  seem  to  disturb  her  lover  ;  he 
turned  to  Katherine  and  asked,  "Were  you  of  the  riding  party  to- 
day !" 


130  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  No,,"  she  replied,  meeting  his  eyes  fully  for  an  instant,  and  then 
averting  her  own,  while  the  color  came  and  went  on  her  cheek  j 
"  I  only  arrived  in  time  for  dinner." 

" Have  I  ever  met  this  voung  lady  before?"  thought  Errington, 
much  puzzled.  "Have  lever  unconsciously  offended  or  annoyed 
her?  I  don't  think  so;  yet  her  face  is  not  quite  strange  to  me." 
And  he  applied  himself  to  his  dinner. 

"I  fancy  you  have  had  rather  a  dull  time  of  it  in  town?"  said 
Colonel  Ormonde,  leaning  back,  while  the  servants  removed  the 
dishes. 

"No,  I  was  not  dull,"  replied  Katherine,  glad  to  turn  to  him.  "I 
was  very  comfortable,  and  of  course  not  in  a  mood  to  see  manv 
strangers  or  to  go  anywhere  Then  I  was  interested  in  Mr.  Payne's 
undertakings  ;  they  are  quite  as  amusing  as  amusements." 

"Bertie  Payne!  to  be  sure  ;  the  nephew  or  brother  of  your 
doughty  chaperon.  Ho  is  always  up  to  some  benevolent  games. 
Queer  fellow." 

"  He  is  very,  very  good,"  said  Katherine,  warmly,  "  and  he  does 
so  much  govod  ;  only  the  amount  of  evil  is  overpowering." 

"  Yes,"  said  Errington  ;  "  I  am  afraid  such  efforts  as  Payne's  are 
mere  scratching  of  the  surface,  and  will  never  touch  the  root  of  the 
evil." 

"  I  suspect  he  is  a  prey  to  impostors  of  every  description,"  said 
Colonel  Ormonde,  with  a  fat  laugh.  "He  is  always  worrying  for 
subscriptions  and  God  knows  what.    But  I  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  him." 

"  I  cannot  say  I  do  always,"  remarked  Errington.  "While  we 
devise  schemes  of  more  scientific  amelioration,  hundreds  die  of  sharp 
starvation  or  misery  long  drawn  out.  Payne  is  a  good  fellow,  and 
enthusiasts  have  their  uses." 

"You  are  so  liberal  yourself,  Mr.  Errington,"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde, 
•*  I  dare  say  you  are  often  imposed  upon  in  spite  of  your  wisdom." 

"My  wisdom  !"  repeated  Errington,  laughing.  "  What  an  origi- 
»al  idea,  Mrs.  Ormonde  !  Did  you  ever  know  1  was  accused  of  wis- 
dom ?"  he  added,  addressing  Lady  Alice. 

"Papa  says  you  are  very  sensible,"  she  returned,  seriously. 

"Of  course,"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde.  "Why,  he  has  written  a 
pamphlet  on  'Our  Colonies,' and  something  wonderful  about  the 
state  of  Europ©— didnt  he,  Mr.  Heywood  ?" 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  rector.  "I  suspect  our  future  member  will 
be  a  cabinet  minister  before  the  world  is  many  years  older." 

Lady  Alice  looked  up  with  more  of  pleasure  and  animation  than 
she  had  yet  shown.    Errington  bent  his  head. 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  prophecy;"  and  he  immediately  turned 
the  conversation  to  the  ever -genial  topics  of  hunting  and  horses. 
Then  Mrs.  Ormonde  gave  the  signal  of  retreat  to  the  drawing-room. 

Here  Katherine  looked  in  vain  for  her  nephews. 
"  "I  suppose  the  boys  have  gone  to  bed,  Ada?" 

"  To  bed  !  oh  yes,  of  course.  Why,  it  is  more  than  half  past  eight ; 
it  would  never  do  to  keep  them  up  so  late.  Would  you  like  to  see 
baby  bov  asleep  ?  he  looks  quite  beautiful. " 

' '  Yes,l  should,  very  much, "  returned  Katherine,  anxious  to  gratify 
the  mother. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  131 

"Come,  then,"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  starting'  up  with  alacrity.  As 
the  invitation  was  g'eneral,  Lcady  Alice  said,  in  her  g-entle  way, 

"Thank  you  ;  I  saw  the  baby  yesterday," 

"  She  has  reaily  very  little  feeling,"  observed  Mrs.  Ormonde, 
as  she  went  upstairs  with  her  sister-in-law.  "  She  never  notices 
baby." 

"I  am  afraid  I  should  not  notice  children  much  if  they  did  not 
belong-  to  mo.'' 

"  My  dear  Katherine,  you  are  quite  different.  Of  course  Lady 
Alice  is  sweet  and  elciaiit,  but  not  clever.  Indeed,  I  cannot  see  the 
use  of  cleverness  to  women.  There  is  a  fine  aristocratic  air  about 
her.  After  all,  there  is  nothing"  like  hig-h  birth.  I  assure  you  it  is 
a  hig-h  complimeiit  her  being-  allowed  to  stay  here.  Her  aunt,  Lady 
Mary  Vincent,  is  a  very  fine  lady  indeed,  and  chaperons  Lady  Alice. 
But  her  father,  Lord  Melford,  isa  curious,  reckless  sort  of  man,  al- 
ways wanderin"-  about — yachting-  and  that  kind  of  thing-  ;  he  is 
rather  in  difficulties  too.  'They  are  glad  enough  to  send  her  down 
here  to  see  something  of  Errington.  You  know  Errington  is  a  very 
good  match  ;  he  has  bought  a  great  deal  of  the  Melford  property, 
and  when  old  Errington  dies  he  will  be  immensely  rich.  The  poor 
old  man  is  in  miserable  health  ;  he  has  not  been  down  here  all  the 
winter.  I  believe  the  wedding  is  to  take  place  in  June  ;  we  will  be 
invited,  of  course  ;  you  see  Colonel  Ormonde  is  so  highly  connected 
that  I  am  in  a  very  different  position  from  what  J  was  accustomed  to. 
And  you,  dear,  you  must  marry  some  person  of  rank  ;  there  is  noth- 
ing like  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Katherine,  with  a  sigh,  "everything  is  changed." 

"  Fortunately  !"  cried  the  exultant  Mrs.  Ormonde,  opening  the 
door  of  a  luxuriously  appointed  nursery. 

"Here,  nurse,  I  have  brought  IMiss  Liddell  to  see  Master  Or- 
monde." 

A  middle-aged  woman,  well  dres.sed,  and  of  authoritative  aspect, 
rose  from  where  she  sat  at  needle-work,  und  came  forward. 

"I  have  only  just g-ot  him  to  sleep,  ma'am,"  she  said,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  "and  if  he  is  awoke  now,  I'll  not  get  '^'moff  again  before 
midnight." 

"  We'll  be  very  c.nioful,  nursu.  Is  ue not  a  fine  little  fellow, Kath- 
erine?" and  she  sofi:^  turned  back  the  bedclothes  from  the  sturdy, 
chubby  child,  who  had  a  somewhat  bulldog  ';^'^Ieof  countenanceand 
a  beautifully  fair  skin 

"How  ridiculously  like  Colonel  Ormonde  '^-^  's  !"  whispered  Kath- 
erine.    "  I  do  not  see  any  trace  of  you." 

"No  ;  he  is  quite  an  Ormonde.  He  is  twic  "  as  big  as  either  Cis 
or  Charlie  was  at  his  age." 

After  a  few  civil  comments  Kathoi  lae  suggested  their  visiting  the 
other  children. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  not  to  go,"  said  the  mother  ;  "they 
will  not  be  so  sound  asleep  as  baby,  and " 

"You  must  indulge  me  this  once,  \da.  I  long  to  look  at 
thorn  " 

"O'.  '  of  course,  dear  ;  ring  for  Eliza,  nurse  ;  she  will  show  Miss 
Lid  i  '  he  way.  I  must  go  back  ;  it  would  never  do  to  leave  Lady- 
Alice  so  long  alone." 


132  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  Do  not  apolog-ize,"  said  Kathcrinc,  with  a  curious  jealous  pan^, 
as  she  noted  Mrs.  Ormonde's  indilfereuce  to  the  children  of  her  first 
poor  love-match. 

A  demure,  flat-faced  g-irl  answered  the  bell,  and  led  Kath- 
erine  down  passages  and  up  a  crooked  stair  to  another  part  of  the 
house. 

Here  she  was  shown  into  a  room  sparsely  supplied  with  old  furni- 
ture. There  was  a  good  fire,  and  a  shaded  lamp  stood  on  a  largo 
table,  where  a  ^\r\  sat  writing. 

"Here  is  a  lady  to  seethe  young  gentlemen,"  said  the  nurse-maid. 
The  voung  scribe  started  up,  looking  confused. 

"  ii  it  would  not  disturb  them,"  said  Katherine, gently,  "I  should 
like  to  see  my  nephews  in  their  sleep." 

"Oh,  MissLiddell!"  exclaimed  the  governess,  a  younger,  com- 
moner-looking person  than  Katherine  had  chosen  before  she  left 
England.  "This  is  their  bedroom,"  and  she  led  Katherine  through 
a  door  opposite  the  fireplace  into  an  inner  room.  There  in  their 
little  beds  lay  the  boys  who  were  all  of  kith  or  kin  left  to  Katherin« 
Liddell. 

How  lovingly  she  bent  over  and  gazed  at  them  ! 

Cecil  had  grown  much.  He  looked  sunburnt  and  healthy.  One 
arm  wa*  thrown  up  behind  his  head,  the  other  stretched  straight 
and  stiff  beside  him,  ending  in  a  closelv  clinched  little  brown  r  st. 
His  lips,  slightly  apart,  emitted  the  softly  drawn  regular  breatii  of 
profound  slumber,  and  the  smile  which  some  pleasant  thought  had 
conjured  up  before  he  closed  his  e^'es  still  lingered  round  his  mouth. 
Katherine  longed  to  kiss  him,  but  feared  to  break  liis  profound  and 
restful  slumbers.  She  passed  to  Charlie.  His  attitude  was  quite 
different.  He  had  thrown  the  clothes  from  his  chest,  and  his  pniky 
white  throat  was  bare  ;  one  little  hand  lay  open  on  the  page  of  a 
picture-book  at  which  he  had  been  looking  when  sleep  overtook  him  ; 
the  other  was  under  his  soft  round  cheek  ;  his  sweet  and  still  baby 
face  was  grave  if  not  sad.  He  looked  like  a  little  angel  who  had 
brought  a  message  to  earth,  and  was  grieved  and  wearied  by  the 
sin  and  sorrow  here  below.  Katherine's  heart  swelled  with  tender- 
est  love  as  she  gazed  upon  him,  and  unconsciously  she  bent 
closer  till  her  lips  touched  his  brow.  Then  a  little  hand  stole  into 
hers,  and,  without  moving,  as  though  he  had  ex  pett-d  her,  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  whispered,  "  Will  you  come  and  kiss  me  every  night, 
as  grannie  did  ?" 

"]  will,  my  darling,  every  nio-ht." 

"  Will  grannie  never  come  and  kiss  me  ag'ain  ?" 

"Never,  Charlie !  She  will  never  come  to  either  of  us  in  this  life.'* 
A  big  tear  fell  on  the  boy's  forehead. 

"  Con't  cry,  auntie  ;  s"he  loves  us  all  the  same."  And  he  kissed  the 
fair  cheek  which  now  lay  against  his  own  as  his  aunt  4cnelt  beside 
his  bed. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  dear  love ;  to-morrow  you  shall  take  me  to  see  your 
garden  and  the  pony." 

"  You  will  be  sure  to  come?" 

*'  Yes,  quite  sure. " 

In  a  few  minutes  the  clasp  of  the  warm  little  hand  relaxed,  and 
Katherine  gently  disengaged  nerself. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  133 

"  The  boys  are  no  longer  first  in  their  mother's  heart,"  thouglvt 
Katherine,  as  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room.  "  Were  they  ever 
first  ?  They  are— they  might  become  all  the  world  to  me.  They 
might  fill  my  life  and'give  it  a  fresh  aspect.  The  new  ties  at  whicA 
Mr.  Newton  hinted  can  never  exist  for  me.  Could  I  accept  att> 
honorable  man  and  live  with  a  perpetual  secret  between  us  ?  CoeL_ 
I  ever  confess  ?  No.  My  most  hopeful  scheme  is  to  be  a  mother  to 
these  children.  And  oh  !  I  do  M^ant  to  be  happy,  to  feel  the  joy  in 
life  that  used  to  lift  up  my  spirit  in  the  old  days  when  we  were 
struggling  with  poverty  !  I  n-ill  throw  off  this  load  of  self -contempt. 
1  have  not  really  injured  any  one." 

In  the  drawing-room  Colonel  Ormonde  was  seated  beside  Lady 
Alice,  making  conversation  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  She  looked 
serenely  content,  and  held  a  piece  of  crochet,  the  kind  of  fancy-work 
which  occupied  tha  young  ladies  in  the  "sixties."  The  rector  and 
Mr.  Errington  were"  in  dtiep  conversation  on  the  hearth-rug,  and 
Mrs.  Ormonde  was  reading  the  paper. 

"So  you  have  been  visiting  the  nursery?"  said  the  Colonel,  rising 
and  offering  Katherine  a  chair.  "  Your  first  introduction  to  our 
young  man,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes.  What  a  great  boy  h^  is  ! — the  picture  of  health  !" 

' '  Ay,  he  is  a  Trojan, "  complacently.  "  The  other  little  fellows  are 
looking  well,  eh?" 

"Very  well  indeed.  Cis  is  wonderfully  grown;  but  Charlie  is 
much  what  he  was." 

"He'll  overtake  his  brother,  though,  before  long,"  said  Colonel 
Ormonde,  encouragingly,  as  he  rang  and  ordered  the  card-table  to 
be  set. 

"  You  play  whist,  I  suppose ?    We  want  a  fourth." 

"  I  am  quite  ignorant  of  that  fascinating  game,"  returned  Kather- 
ine, "and  very  sorry  to  be  so  useless." 

"It  is  lamentable  ignorance !  Lady  Alice,  will  you  take  compas- 
sion on  us?    No?— then  we  must  have  Errington." 

Errington  did  not  seem  at  all  reluctant,  and  the  two  young  ladies 
were  left  to  entertain  each  other. 

Katherine,  who  had  gone  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  to  look  at 
some  water-color  drawings,  came  back  and  sat  down  beside  her. 
Lady  Alice  looked  amiable,  but  did  not  speak,  and  Katherine  felt 
greatly  at  a  loss  what  to  say. 

"  What  very  fine  work !"  she  said  at  length,  watching  the  small, 
weak-looking  hands  so  steadily  employed. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  very  difficult  pattern.  My  aunt,  Lady  Mary,  never 
could  manage  it,  and  she  does  a  great  deal  of  crochet,  and  is  very 
ev^r." 

"  It  seems  most  complicated.    I  am  sure  I  could  never  do  it." 

"  Do  you  crochet  much?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"Then,"  with  some  appearance  of  interest,  "what  do  you 
do?" 

"  Oh !  various  things  ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  industrious. 
I  v?ould  rather  mend  my  clothes  than  do  fancy  work." 

'  Mfv:^  you»-  cloi-Ue*  !"  repcattjd  Lady  Alice,  in  unfeigned  amaze- 


134  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  Yes.  I  assure  you  there  is  g-reat  pleasure  in  a  symmetrical 
patch." 

"But  does  not  your  maid  do  that?" 

' '  Now  that  I  have  one.  she  does.  However,  you  must  show  me 
how  to  crochet,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  ;  my  only  approach  to 
fancy-work  is  knitting".  I  can  knit  stock  ing-s.  Isn't  that  an 
achievement?" 

"  But  is  it  not  tiresome?" 

"  Oh  !  I  can  knit  like  the  Germans,  and  talk  or  read." 

"  Is  it  possible?"    A  long-  pause. 

"Mrs.  Ormonde  says  you  are  very  learned  and  studious,"  said 
Lady  Alice,  languidly. 

"  Irlow  cruel  of  har  to  malig-n  me !"  returned  ICatherine,  laughing-. 
"  Learned  I  certainlv  am  not ;  but  I  am  fond  of  indiscriminate  read' 
in>,  though  not  studious." 

' '  I  like  a  nice  novel,  withdreadful  people  in  it,  like  Miss  St.  Maur's. 
Have  you  read  any  of  hers?" 

"  I  don't  think  so.    I  do  not  know  the  name." 

"  The  St.  Maurs  are  Devonshire  people— a  very  old  country 
family,  I  believe.  Still,  when  she  writes  about  the  season 
in  London,  I  don't  think  it  is  verv  like."    Another  pause. 

' '  You  have  been  in  Italy,  I  think,  Lady  Alice  ?''  recommenced 
Katherine. 

"  Oh  yes,  often.  Papa  is  always  cruising  about,  you  know,  and 
we  stop  at  places.    But  I  have  never  been  in  Rome." 

"  Yachting  must  be  delightful." 

"  I  do  not  like  it ;  I  am  always  ill.  Aunt  Mary  took  me  to  Flor- 
ence for  a  winter." 

"Then  you  enjoj-ed  that,  I  dare  say,"  said  Katherine. 

*'  I  got  tired  of  it.  I  do  not  care  for  livin"-  abroad  ;  there  is  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  go  to  picture -^'aileries  and  flieatres." 

"Well,  that  is  a' good  deal,"  returned  Katherine,  smiling. 
*' Where  doyou  like  to  live,  Lady  Alice?" 

"  Oh,  in  the  country.  I  am"^  almost  sorry  Mr.  Errington  has  a 
house  in  town.  I  am  so  fond  of  a  garden,  and  riding  on  quiet  roads ! 
I  am  afraid  to  ride  in  London.  The  country  is  so  peaceful  !  no  one 
is  in  a  hurry." 

"  What  a  happy,  tranquil  life  she  will  lead  under  the  aegis  of  such 
a  man  as  Mr.  Errington  ! "  thou^-ht  Katherine. 

"Do  you  play  or  sing  ?"  asked  Lady  Alice,  for  once  taking  the 
initiative. 

"  Yes,  in  a  very  amateur  fashion." 

"Then,"  with  more  animation,"  perhaps  you  would  jtlay  my  ac- 
companiments for  me  ;  I  always  like  to  stand  when  I  siii'g.  'Mrs. 
Ormonde  says  she  forgets  her  music.    Is  it  not  odd?" 

"  Well,  people  in  India  do  as  little  as  possible.  I  shall  be  very 
pleascxl  to  play  for  vou.    Shall  Ave  practice  to-morrow  ?" 

"Oh  yes;  immediately  after  bi-eakfast.  There  id  really  nothing 
to  do  here." 

"Immediately  after  breakfast  I  am  going  out  with  the  bovs— 
Mrs.  Ormonde's  boys.  Have  you  seen  them  ?  But  we  shall  hava 
plenty  of  time  before  luncheon." 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  135 

"  Are  you  fond  of  children  ?"  slowly,  while  her  busy  needle  paused 
and  she  undid  a  stitch  or  two. 

"  I  am  fond  of  these  children;  I  do  not  know  much  about  any 
other." 

"Beverley's  children  (my  eldest  brother's)  are  very  troublesome  ; 
they  annoy  "me  very  much."  Silence  Avhile  she  took  up  her  stitches 
again.  ""^The  worst  of  this  pattern  is  that  if  you  talk  you  are  sure  to 
go  wrong." 

"  Then  I  will  find  a  book  and  not  disturb  you,"  said  Katherine, 
good  hunioredly.  She  felt  kindly  and  indulgent  toward  this  gentle 
helpl  'Rs  creature,  who  seemed  so  many  years  younger  than  herself, 
thoivli  barely  two,  in  fact.  That  she  was  Erringtons //«,«•■:!'  gave 
her  ;i  cu'-ioiis  interest  in  Katherine's  eyes.  She  v/ould  willingly 
have  (Inn  ^  him  all  possible  good  ;  she  was  strangely  attracted  to  the 
man  sli'i  had  cheated.  There  was  a  simple  natiiral  dignity  about 
him  that  pleased  her  imagination,  yet  she  almost  dreaded  to  speak  to 
him,  liist  the  ver^--  tones  of  her  voice,  the  encounter  of  their  eyes, 
should  betray  her. 

At  last  Errington,  looking  at  his  watch,  declared  that  as  the 
rubber  was  over^  he  must  say  goad-night. 

"Wiiat,  are  j^ou  not  staying  here  to-night?"  said  Colonel  Or- 
monde. 

"  No  ;  T  have  a  good  deal  of  letter-writing  to  get  through  to- 
morrow, so  did  not  accept  Mrs.  Ormonde's  kind  invitation." 

"  You'll  have  a  deuced  cold  drive.  Come  over  on  Thursday,  will 
vou?  Old  Wray,  the  banker,  is  to  dine  here,  and  one  or  two 
!lNIonkton  worthies.  Stay  till  Tuesdaj--  or  Wednesday.  The  next 
meets  are  Friday  and  Monday,  on  this  side  of  the  county.  There 
will  not  be  many  more  this  season." 

"Thank  you  •  I  shall  be  very  happy."  He  crossed  to  where  Lady 
Alice  still  sat  placidly  at  work^  and  made  his  adieux  in  a  low  tone, 
holding  her  hand  for  a  moment  longer  than  mere  acquaintancesliip 
warranted,  and  ha^ing  exchanged  good-nights,  left  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  his  host. 

There  was  a  good  fire  in  Katherine's  bedroom,  and  having  de- 
clined the  assistance  of  Mrs.  Ormonde's  maid,  she  put  on  her  dre.ssing- 
gown  and  sat  down  beside  it  to  think.  She  was  still  quivering-  with 
the  nervous  excitement  she  had  striven  so  hard  and  so  successfully 
to  conceal. 

Wlien  Mrs.  Ormonde  had  given  her  rapid  explanation  of  who 
Errington  was,  and  without  a  pause  presented  him,  Katherine  felt 
as  if  she  must  ilrop  at  his  feet.  Indeed,  she  would  have  been  thank- 
-f  ul  if  a  merciful  insensibility  had  made  her  impervious  to  his  ques- 
tioning eyes.    Shf  well  knew  who  he  was. 

He  was  the  real  owner  of  the  property  she  now  possessed.  The 
will  she  had  suppressed  bequeathed  all   John  Liddell's   real  and 

esrsonal  property  to  Miles  Errington,  only  son  of  his  old  friend  Arthur 
rrington,  of  Calton  Buildings,  London,  E.  C,  and  Calcutta.  She, 
the  robber,  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  robbed.  Did  he  know  by 
intuition  that  she  was  guilty  ?  How  grave  and  questionin"-  his  eves 
were!  Why  did  he  look  at  her  like  that?  How  he  would  despise 
her  and  forbid  his  affianced  wife  to  be  outraged  by  her  presence  if 
he  knew ! 


136  A^bUbOKED  PATH. 

He  looked  like  a  hig-h-minded  gentleman.  If  he  seemed  almost 
sternly  grave,  his  smile  was  kind  and  frank,  and  she  had  made  her- 
self unworthy  to  associate  with  such  men  as  he. 

But  he  was  rich.  He  did  not  need  the  money  she  wanted  so  sorely. 
"What  of  that  i-*  Did  his  abundance  alter  the  everlasting  conditions 
of  right  and  wrong  ?  Perhaps  if  she  had  not  attempted  to  play  Pro- 
vidence for  the  sake  of  her  family,  and  let  things  follow  their  natui-al 
course,  Mr.  Errington  might  have  spared  a  few  crumbs  from  his 
rich  table— a  reasonable  dole— to  patch  up  the  ragged  edges  of  their 
frayed  fortunes.  Then  she  would  not  be  oppressed  with  me  sense  of 
shame,  this  weight  of  riches  she  shrank  from  using.  She  had  mur- 
dered her  own  happiness ;  she  had  killed  her  own  youth.  Never 
again  could  she  know  the  joyousness  of  light-hearted  girlhood,  while 
nothing  the  world  might  o-ive  her  could  atone  for  the  terrible  tres- 
pass which  had  broken  the  harmony  of  her  moral  nature  by  the 
perpetual  sense  of  unatoned  wrong -doing.  How  she  wished  she  had 
never  come  to  Castleford  !  True,  her  seeing  Mr.  Errington  did  not 
make  her  guilt  a  shade  darker,  but  oh,  how  much  more  keenly  she 
felt  it  under  his  eyes  !  And  now  she  could  not  rush  away.  She 
must  avoid  all  eccentricities  lest  they  might  possibly  arouse  suspi- 
cion. Suspicion?  What  was  there  to  suspect?  No  one  would 
dream  of  suspicion.  Then  that  will !  She  would  try  and  nerve  her- 
self to  destroy  it,  thoug'h  it  seemed  sacrilege  to  do  so.  Whatever 
she  did,  however,  she  must  think  of  Cis  and  Charlie.  Having  com- 
mitted such  an  act,  her  only  course  was  to  bear  the  consequences, 
and  do  her  duty  by  the  innocent  children,  whose  fate  would  be  cruel 
enough  should  she  indulge  in  any  wi'ak  rep.iutance  or  seek  relief  in 
confession.  She  had  burdened  herself  with  a  disgraceful  secret,  and 
she  must  bear  it  her  life  long.  It  gave  her  infinite  pain  to  face  Miles 
Errino'ton,  yet  while  at  one  moment  she  longed  to  liy  from  him,  the 
next  she  felt  an  extraordinary  desire  to  hear  him  "speak,  to  learn 
the  prevailing  tone  of  his  mind,  to  know  his  opinions.  There  was  a» 
earnestness  in  his  look  and  manner  that  appealed  to  her  sympathies. 
He  was  a  just,  upright  gentleman.  W  hat  would  he  tliink  of  the 
dastardly  deed  by  which  she  had  robbed  him  ? 

"I  must  not  think  of  it.  I  must  try  and  forget  I  ever  did  it,  and 
be  as  good  and  true  as  I  can  in  all  else.  And  the  will !  I  must 
destroy  it.  I  am  sure  my  poor  old  uncle  meant  to  do  away  with  it. 
Perhaps  if  it  were  cleaii  gone  I  might  feel  more  at  rest.  How 
strange  it  is  that  instead  of  growing  accustomed  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  my  own  dishonesty  I  become  more  keenly  alive  to  the  shame 
of  my  act  as  time  rol's  on !  Poihaps  if  I  am  brave  and  resolute  I 
may  conquer  the  scorpion  stlng'i  of  self-reproach.  How  dear  those 
two" sweet  peaceful  years  haio  cost  me!  Would  I  undo  it  all  to 
iave  myself  these  f^iig^i  ?  .^a.  'X'hea  I  dM^y^Q  to  bear  is  to  conquer 
one's  l&ify." 


<A  G^^         \  *i**^ROOKED  PATa  137 


toO^' 


.e***^  CHAPTER  XV. 

CROSS    PURPOSES. 

The  first  ten  days  at  Castleford  would  have  been  dull  indeed  to 
Katherine  but  for  the  society  of  Cis  and  Charlie  in  th3  morning's, 
and  the  interest  she  took  in  watching  Errington  (who  was  of  course 
a  frequent  visitor)  in  the  evenings. 

Though  she  avoided  conversing  with  him  as  much  as  possible,  he 
was  a  constant  study  to  her.  He  was  different  from  all  the  men  she 
had  previously  met.  She  often  wonderod  if  anything  could  disturb 
him  or  hurry  him.  Had  he  ever  climbed  trees  and  torn  his  clothes, 
or  thrashed  an  adversary  ?  Had  he  any  weaknesses,  or  vivid  joys, 
or  passionate  longings  ?  Yet  he  did  not  seem  a  prig.  His  manner, 
though  dignified,  was  easv  and  natural  ;  his  eyes,  though  steady 
and  penetrating,  were  kindly ;  his  bearing  had  the  repose  of  strength. 
It  was  too  awful  to  contemplate  what  his  estimate  of  herself  would 
be  if  he  knew ;  but  then  he  must  nei:er  know  ! 

As  it  was,  he  seemed  inclined  to  be  friendly  and  communicative, 
pleased  when  he  met  her  strolling  in  the  garden  with  Lady  Alice, 
and  gratified  to  find  that  she  could  accompany  his  fiancee^s  songs. 
Indeed  he  said  he  had  never  heard  La.ly  Alice  sing  so  well  as  when 
Miss  Liddell  played  for  her. 

Apart  from  the  boys  and  Errington,  Katherine  found  time  hang 
very  heavily  on  her  hands.  The  aimless  lingering  over  useless 
fancy-work  or  second-rate  novels,  the  discussion  of  such  gossip  as 
their  correspondence  supplied,  by  means  of  which  Mrs.  Ormonde 
and  Lady  Alice  got  through  the  day,  were  inlinitely  wearisome  to 
her. 

Miles  Errino-ton  was  one  of  those  happy  individuals  said  to  be 
born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth.  The  only  son  of  a  wealthy 
father,  who,  though  enriched  by  trade,  had  come  of  an  old  Border 
race,  he  had  had  the  best  education  money  could  procure.  More 
fortunate  still  in  the  endowments  of  nature,  he  was  well  formed, 
strong,  active,  and  blessed  with  perfect  health ;  while  mentally  he 
was  intelligent  and  reflective,  thoughtful  rather  than  brilliant,  and 
by  temperament  profoundly  calm.  He  had  never  got  into  scrapes 
or  committed  extravagance.  He  was  tha  despair  of  managing 
mammas  and  fascinating  young  married  women  ;  yet  he  was  not 
unpopular  with  either  sex.  Men  respected  his  strong,  steady  char- 
acter, his  high  standard,  his  sound  judgment  in  matters  afecting 
the  stable  and  the  race-cotirse  ;  women  were  attracted  by  his 
obligingness  and  generosity.  Still  he  was  the  sort  of  man  with 
whom  few  became  intimate,  and  none  dai*ed  take  a  liberty.  Pre- 
served by  his  fortunate  surroundings  and  strong  tranquil  nature 
from  difficulties  or  temptations,  he  could  hardly  understand  the 
pa.ssionate  outbreaks  of  weaker  and  more  fiery  men. 

His  greatest  pliysical  pleasure  was  an  exciting  run  with  the 
hounds  ;  his  deepest  interest  centred  in  politics  ;  though  never  in- 
dulging in  sentiment,  he  was   an  earnest  patriot.    Whether  he 


138  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

could  be  moved  by  more  personal  feelings  remained  to  be  proved. 
At  present  the  sources  of  tenderer  alfection,  if  they  existed,  lay  so 
deep  below  the  strata  of  reason  and  common-sense  that  only  some 
artesian  process  could  pierce  to  the  imprisoned  springs  and  set  the 
"  water  of  life"  fi-ee,  perhaps  to  bound,  geyser -like,  into  the  outer 
air.    * 

Having-  travelled  by  sea  and  land,  and  looked  into  the  social  and 
political  condition  of  many  countries,  having-  mixed  mucli  with  men 
and  women  at  home  and  abroad,  Erring-ton  thoug-ht  it  time  to  take 
his  place  in  the  g-reat  commonwealth— to  marry,  and  to  try  for  a 
seat  in  the  House  of  Commons.  He  therefore  selected  Lady  Alice 
Mordaunt.  She  Avas  rather  prettj',  graceful,  gentle,  and  quite  at 
his  service.  He  really*  like  her  in  a,  sort  of  fatherly  way  ;  he  looked 
forward  with  quiet  pleasure  to  making  her  very  !iaj)|>y,  and  did  not 
doubt  she  would  in  his  hands  mature  into  asurf:ciii:t  companion,  for 
though  Errington  was  not  naturally  a  seltish  uiai;,  his  life  and 
training  disposed  him  to  look  on  those  connected  wiih  him  as  on  the 
■whole  created  for  him. 

He  had  been  absent  for  two  or  three  days,  having  gone  up  to 
town  to  visit  his  father,  who  had  been  some^^'hat  seriously  unwell, 
and  as  he  rode  toward  Castleford  he  gave  more  thought  than  usual 
to  his  young  ^fiancee.  In  truth,  a  visit  to  Colonel  Ormonde  was  a 
great  bore  to  him.  He  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  Colonel, 
whose  pig-headed  conservatism  jarred  on  Errington's  broader  views, 
while  his  stories  and  reminiscences  were  excocUngly  uninteresting, 
and  sometimes  worse.  Mrs.  Ormonde's  small  coquetries,  her  airs 
and  graces,  were  equallv  unattractive  to  him.  Still  it  was  well  to 
have  Lady  Alice  at  Castleford,  within  easy  roach,  while  there  wa.'; 
so  much  to  occupy  his  time  and  attention  in  the  country.  As  soon 
as  he  was  sure  oi  his  election  he  woukl  hasten  his  marriage,  and 
perhaps  get  the  honey-moon  over  in  tiir.e  to  take  his  seat  wliik;  there 
was  still  a  month  or  two  of  the  session  unexpired. 

From  Lady  Alice  it  was  an  easv  transition  of  thought  to  the  new 
guest  at  Castleford.  Where  had  he  seen  her  face?  and  with  what 
Avas  he  associated  in  her  mind  ?  Nothing  agref^able ;  of  that  he  was 
quite  sure.  The  vivid  blush  and  indescribable  shrinking  he  liad 
noticed  more  than  once  (and  Errington,  like  most  quiet  men,  Avas  f. 
close  observer)  seemed  unaccountable.  Miss  Liddell  Avas  far  from 
shy  ;  she  was  AACll-bred  and  evidently  accustomed  to  society  ;  her 
aA'oidance  had  therefore  made  the  more  impression.  His  exjx-rience 
of  life  had  hitherto  been  exceedingly  unemotional,  and  Katherino's 
unexpected  betrayal  of  feeling  puzzled  him  not  a  little. 

At  this  point  in  "his  reflections  he  had  reached  that  part  of  the  road 
where  it  dipped  into  a  hollow,  on  one  side  of  Avliich  the  Melford 
•woods  began.  A  steep  bank  rose  on  the  right,  thickly  studded  Avith 
beech  and  oak  trees,  still  leafless,  but  Ihj  scanty,  yclloAvish  grass 
which  grew  beneath  them  was  tufted  a\  ith  j  rimroses'and  violets. 

As  Errington  came  round  a  bend  in  tlw.  little  valley  the  sound  of 
ghrill,  childish  laughter  came  pleasantly  to  his  ear,  "and  the  next 
minute  brought  him  in  sight  of  a  lady  in  mourning  whcm  he  re- 
cognized immediately,  arid  two  little  boys,  who  were  hi<4h  up  the 
bank,  buisily  engaged  filling  a  basket  with  sweet  sin-ing  blossoms. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  139 

Errington  paused,  dismounted,  and  raising"  his  hat,  approached 
her. 

"  I  did  not  expect  so  meet  you  so  far  afield,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
not  afraid  of  a  long"  walk." 

"My  nephews  have  led  me  on  fx*om  flower  to  flower,"  she 
returned,  ag-ain  coloring-  brightly,  but  not  shrinking  from  his  eyes. 
"Now  I  think  it  is  time  to  go  home." 

"  It  is  not  late,"  he  returned.     "How  is  every  one  at  Castleford?" 

"  Quite  well.  Lady  Alice  has  lost  her  cold,  and  regained  her 
voice— she  was  singing  this  morning,"  said  Katherine,  smiling  as 
if  she  knew  the  real  drift  of  his  question. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  returned,  soberly. 

Errington  and  Lady  Alice  did  not  write  to  each  other  every  dav. 

"Auntie,"  cried  Cis,  "  the  basket  is  quite  full.  If  you  open  your 
sunshade  and  hold  it  upside-down,  I  can  fill  that  too." 

"  No  dear  ;  you  have  quite  enough.     "We  must  go  back  now." 

"Oh,  not  yet,  please?"  The  little  fellow  came  tumbling  down 
the  bank,  followed  b^-  Charlie,  Avho  immediately  caught  his  aunt's 
hand  and  repeated,  "  Not  yet,  auntie  !" 

"  These  are  Mrs.  Ormonde's  boys,  I  suppose?"  said  Errington. 

"Yes  ;  have  you  never  seen  them  before?" 

"Never.  And  have  you  not  had  ei.ough  climbing?"  he  added, 
good  humoredly,  to  Charlie. 

"No,  not  half  enough  !"  cried  Cis.  "There's  mch  a  bunch  of 
violets  just  under  that  biggest  beech-tree,  nearly  up  at  the  top  !  Do 
let  me  gather  thorn — just  those  ;  do— do— do  !" 

"  Very  well ;  do  not  go  toe  fast,  or  you  will  break  your  neck." 

Both  boys  started  off",  leaving  their  basket  at  Katherine's  feet. 

"I  remember  now,"  said  Errington,  looking  at  her,  "where  I 
saw  I  saw  you  before.  Is  was  two— nearly  three— years  ago,  at 
Hyde  Park  comer,  when  that  elder  boy  had  a  narrow  escape  from 
being  run  over." 

"  Were  ijon  there  ?"  she  exclaimed,  so  evidently  surprised  that 
Erringtoh  saw  the  impulse  was  genuine.  "  I  recollect  Mr.  Pavne 
and  Colonel  Ormonde ;  but  I  did  not  see  you." 

"  Then  where  hace  you  met  me?"  was  at  his  lips,  but  he  did  not 
utter  the  words. 

"  Well,  P;iyne  was  of  real  service  ;  I  did  nothing.  The  little  fel- 
low had  a  close  shave." 

"He  had  indeed,"  said  Katherine,  thoughtfully,  with  downcast 
eyes  ;  then,  suddenly  raising  them  to  his,  she  said,  as  if  to  herself, 
"And  you  were  there  too  !    How  strange  it  all  is  !" 

"  I  see  nothing  so  strange  in  it.  Miss  Liddell,"  smiling  good-hu- 
moredly.     "  Have  you  any  superstition  on  the  subject  ?" 

"  No  ;  3  am  not  superstitious  ;  yet  it  was  curious— I  mean,  to  meet 
by  accident  on  that  day  just  before—"  She  stopped.  "  And  now  I 
am  connected  with  Colonel  Ormonde,  living  with  Mr.  Payne's  sister, 
and— and  talking  here   with — yon.''' 

"  These  coincidences  occur  perpetually  when  people  move  in  the 
same  set,"  returned  Errington,  feeling*  absurdly  curious,  and  yet 
not  knowing  how  to  get  at  the  train  of  recollection  or  association 
which  underlay  her  words— words  evidently  unstudied  and  ini« 
pulsive. 


140  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"I suppose  so.  And,  you  know— Mr.  Payne,"  Katherine  con- 
tinued, quickly—"  how  good  he  is  I  He  lives  completely  for  others." 

"  Yes,  1  believe  him  to  bj  thoroa<^li!y,  honestly  g'ood'  How  hard 
he  toils,  and  with  what  a  pitiful  result !" 

"  I  wish  he  would  g"o.  Why  does  he  stand  there  making'  conver- 
sation?" thoug-ht  Katherine,  while  shesaidaloud  :  "  I  don't  see  that. 
If  every  one  helped  two  or  three  poor  creatures  whom  they  knew, 
we  should  not  have  all  this  poverty  and  sulfering  which  are  distract- 
ing* to  think  about." 

"I  doubt  it ;  it  would  be  more  likely  to  paup.irize  the  whole 
nation." 

Here  Charlie  and  Cis,  with  earth-stained  knees  and  hands— the 
latter  full  of  violets— reluctantly  descended.  Adding-  these  to  the 
basket  already  oversowing',  they  had  a  short  wrang-le  as  to  who 
should  carry  it,  and  then  Katharine  turned  bar  steps  homeward. 
Errington  passed  the  bridle  over  his  arm,  and  to  her  g'reat  an- 
noyance, walked  beside  her. 

"  Are  you,  then,  disposed  to  give  yourself  to  faith  and  to  good 
works  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  1  should  like  to  help  those  who  want,  but  I  fear 
I  am  too  fond  of  pleasure  to  sacrifice  myself— at  least  I  was  and  I 
suppose  the  love  will  return.  Of  courselt  is  easy  to  give  money  ; 
it  is  hard  to  give  one's  self." 

"  You  seem  very  philosophic  for  so  young  a  lady." 

"  I  am  not  young,"  said  IvaLherine,  sadly;  '■'lam  years  older 
than  Lady  Alice." 

"  How  many — one  or  two.^"  asked  Errington,  in  his  kind,  fatherly, 
somewhat  superior  tone,  which  rath.'.r  irritated  her. 

"The  years  /  mean  are  not  to  be  measured  by  the  ordinary 
standard;  even  ijon  must  know  that  some  years  last  longer^no, 
that  is  not  the  expression— press  heavier  than  others." 

"  Even  \^    Do  you  think  I  am  specially  matter-of-fact  ?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  think  you  any  tiling,  for  I  do  not  know  you  j 
but  you  give  me  that  impression." 

"  1  dare  say  I  am  ;  nor  do  I  see  why  I  should  object  to  be  so  con- 
sidered." 

Here  Cecil,  who  got  tired  of  a  conversation  from  which  he  could 
gather  nothing,  put  in  his  oar :  "Are  you  Mr.  Errington?" 

"I  am.    How  do  you  know  my  name?" 

"  I  saw  you  going  out  with  the  Colonel  to  the  meet — oh,  along 
while  ago  !   And  Miss  Richards  and  nurse  were  talking  about  you." 

"They  said  vou  had  a  real  St.  Bernard  dog— one  that  gets  the 

EBople  out  of  the  snow,"  cried  Charlie.  "  Will  you  let  him  come 
ere?    I  want  to  see  him." 

"  You  had  better  come  and  pcay  him  a  visit." 

"  Oh  yes,  thank  you  !"  exclaimed  Cis.  "  Auntie  will  take  us,  per- 
haps. Auncie  willtake  us  to  the  sea -side,  and  thon  we  shall  bathe, 
and^o  in  boats,  and  learn  to  row." 

"Cis.  run  with  me  to  that  big  tree  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Auntie 
will  farry  the  basket,"  cried  Charlie,  and  the  next  moment  they 
wer«  off. 

' '  Fine  little  fellows, "  said  Errington.    [ '  I  like  children. " 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  141 

"  I  am  going"  to  ask  Mrs.  Ormonde  to  lend  them  to  me  for  a  few 
months,  for  they  are  all  I  have  of  kith  or  kin." 

"  They  are  not  at  all  like  you,"  returned  Errington,  letting  his 
quiet,  but  to  her  most  embarrassing,  eyes  rest  upon  her  face. 

"  Yet  they  are  ray  only  brother's  children."  Here  Katherine 
paused  with'a  sense  of  relief  ;  they  had  reached  a  stile  where  a  foot- 
way led  across  some  fields  and  a  piece  of  common  overgrown  with 
bracken  and  gorse.  It  was  the  short-cut  to  Castleford,  by  which 
Cecil  had  led  her  to  the  Melford  Woods. 

"  Oh,  do  come  round  by  the  road,  auntie,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "per- 
haps ]\rr.  Errhigton  will  let  me  ride  his  horse." 

"  I  do  not  know  if  he  will,  Cis,  but  /  certainly  will  not.  lam  tired 
too,  dear,  and  want  to  get  home  the  shortest  way  I  can,  so  bid  Mr. 
Errington  good-by,  and  come  with  me.  No,  don't  shake  hands  ; 
yours  are  much  too  dirty." 

"  >.  !\  er  mind  ;  when  you  are  a  big  boy  I'll  give  you  a  mount. 
Good  !)y,  Master  Charlie— vow  are  Charlie,  are  you  not?  Till  we 
me.it  at;  dinner.  Miss  Liddell."  He  raised  his  hat,  and  divining  that 
she  wish  id  liim  to  let  her  get  over  the  stile  unassisted,  he  mounted 
his  lior.se  anl  rode  swiftly  away. 

"  I  am  sii.- '  ha  would  have  given  me  a  ride  if  you  had  gone  by  the 
road,  aullti;^'  .said Cecil,  reproachfully. 

''J  could  not  have  allowed  you,  dear  ;  so  do  not  think  about  it." 
Erriiigton  meanwhile  rode  oii,  unconsciously  slackening  his  pace  as 
he  iniis.'d.  "  No,  she  certainly  has  never  S3en  me  before,  yet  she 
kn()'.\sme.  How?  She  was  very  glad  to  get  rid  of  me  just  now. 
Why.-"  I  am  inoTensive  enouo'h.  There  is  something  uncommon 
about  her  ;  she  gives  me  the  idea  of  having  a  history,  which  is  any- 
thing but  desirable  for  a  young  woman.  What  iine  eyes  she  has  ! 
She  is  something  like  that  Sibyl  of  Guercino's  in  the  Capitol.  Why 
does  she  object  to  me?  It  is  rather  absurd.  I  must  make  her  talk, 
then  I  sliall  find  out." 

Here  his  horse  started,  and  broke  the  thread  of  his  reflections.  "Ry 
the  time  the  steed  had  pranced  and  curvetted  a  litde,  Errington's 
thoughts  had  turned  into  some  of  their  usual  graver  channels,  and 
Katherine  Liddell  was— well,  not  absolutely  forgotten. 

The  object  of  his  reflections  reached  the  house  rather  late  for  the 
boys'  tea,  and  expecting  to  find  her  hostess  and  Lady  Alice  enjoying 
the  same  refreshment,  she  gave  her  warm  outdoor  jacket  to  Cecil, 
who  immediately  put  it  on  as  the  best  mode  of  taking  it  upstairs, 
and  v/ent  into  Mrs.  Ormonde's  morning-room,  where  afternoon  tea 
was  always  served.  It  was  a  pleasant  room  in  warm  summer 
weather,  as  its  aspect  was  east,  and  the  afternoons  were  cool  and 
shady  there  ;  but  of  a  chill  evening  at  the  end  of  March  it  was 
cold  a  id  dim,  and  needed  the  glow  of  a  good  fire  to  make  it 
attractive. 

Daylight  still  lingered  in  the  sky,  but  was  fast  fading,  and  the 
dancing  light  of  a  cheerful  fire  was  a  pleasant  contrast  to  the  gray 
shadows  without.  The  room  Avas  very  nondescript ;  its  furniture 
was  of  the  spidery  fashion  which  ruled  when  the  "first  gentleman  " 
held  the  reins  ;  thin  hard  sofas  and  scanty  draperies  were  supple- 
mented by  Persian  rug-s  and  showy  cushions,  while  various  speci- 


142  A  CROOKED  PATH.  • 

mens  of  doubtful  china  crowded  the  mantel -piece  and  consoles. 
Mrs.  Ormonde  was  quite  innocent  of  original  taste,  but  was  a  quick, 
industrious  imitator,  while  of  comfortable  chaix'S  she  was  a  most 
competent  judge. 

Quite  sure  of  finding  Mrs.  Ormonde,  Lady  Alice,  and  Miss  Brcre- 
ton— another  visitor — refreshing  themselves  after  their  outdoor  ex- 
ercise, and  intending  to  announce  the  pleasant  news  of  Errington's 
return,  Katherina  exclaimed,  "Lady  Alice!"  as  she  crossed  the 
threshold,  then  Sv-^.jing  no  one,  stopped.  • 

"  Lady  Alice  is  not  here,"  said  a  strong,  harsh  voice,  and  a  tall 
figure  in  a  shooting-coat  and  gaiters  rose  from  the  dept iis  of  a  largo 
arm-chair,  the  back  of  which  was  toward  the  door  and  stood  before 
her. 

Katherine  was  slightly  startled,  but  guessed  it  was  one  of  two 
guests  expected  to  arrive  that  day.  She  advanced,  therefore,  and 
said,  "Mrs.  Ormonde  is  unusually  late,  but  I  am  sure  she  will  soon 
be  here." 

"  Meantime  tea  is  quite  ready.  It  has  stood  twice  the  regulation 
five  minutes  ;  and  is  there  any  just  cause  or  impediment  why  it 
should  not  be  poured  out  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of,"  returned  Katherine,  taking  off  her  hat 
and  smoothing  back  her  hair,  which  showed  golden  tints  in  the  fitful 
fire-light. 

The  low  tea-table  was  set  before  the  fire,  she  drew  a  chair  beside  it 
and  removed  the  cozy  from  the  teapot. 

Recognizing  De  Burgh  from  Mrs.  Ormonde's  description,  she  felt 
that  he  was  even  more  at  home  at  Castleford  than  herself,  and  she 
also  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  knew  who  she  was.  Shj  had 
been  prepared  by  Mrs.  Ormonde's  evident  admiration  to  dislike  De 
Burgh,  having  made  up  her  mind  that  he  would  prove  an  empty- 
headed,  insolent  grandee,  whose  pretensions  imposed  upon  her 
sister-in-law's  somewhat  slender  experience,  and  whose  life  was 
probably  given  up  to  physical  enjoyment.  H(!  had  not,  how- 
ever, the  aspect  of  a  mere  pleasure-seeker.  His  dark,  strong 
face  and  bony  frame  looked  as  if  he  could  work  as  well  as 
plav. 

"Do  vou  take  sug-ar?" 

"No,'^thank  you;  neither  sugar  nor  cream." 

"  Neither?    That  is  very  self-denying !" 

"  Not  self-denying  !  Were  I  foolish  enough  to  do  what  I  did  not 
like,  I  should  take  the  sugar  and  cream.  They  do  not  happen  to 
please  my  palate." 

"It  is  well  we  do  not  all  like  the  same  things.' 

"  It  is  indeed !"  He  held  his  cup  untasted  for  a  moment,  looking 
thoughtfully  into  the  fire.  "  Tea  is  the  best  drink  you  can  have  in 
difficult,  fatiguing  journeys.  Even  the  gold-diggers  of  Australia 
know  that.  Thev  drink  hard  enough  when  they  are  on  the  spree, 
but  when  at  work  in  earnest  they  stick  to  the  teapot,"  he  said,  turn- 
ino-  his  eyes  full  upon  her  with  a  cool,  critical  gaze,  which  half 
amused,  half  irritated  her.  It  was  curious  to  sit  there  talkino-  easily 
with  a  total  stranger.  Perhaps  she  ought  to  have  left  him  to  himself, 
but  it  wfui  not  much  matter.  T/)oking  toward  the  window  to  avoitt 
bar  companion's  eyes,  she  exclaimed : 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  143 

"  It  is  raining"  quite  fast !  I  am  glad  I  brong-ht  the  children  home 
before  this  shower." 

"  An  avant-courier  of  April.  You  were  walking-  with  Mrs.  Or- 
monde's boys,  then  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  take  them  out  every  day." 

"An  uncommonly  g-ood-looking  governess,"  thought  De  Burgh. 
*'  You  have  not  been  here  long,  I  think  ?"  he  said. 

"About  three  weeks.  The  boys  are  quite  used  to  me  now,  and 
enjov  their  walks,  for  I  take  them  outside  the  grounds,"  said 
Katherine,  feeling  sure  that  De  Burgh  must  guess  who  she 
was, 

' '  Indeed !  You  are  a  daring  innovator.  I  suppose  they  were  kept 
on  the  premises  till  you  camei'" 

"They  were;  and  it  is  always  tiresome  to  be  kept  within 
bounds. " 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  The  sentiment  is  extremely  natural, 
only  young  ladies  rarely  confess  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  you  ought  to  know  better  than  I  do.  You  give  me  the  idea 
of  being"^a  plucky  woman. 

"You  must  be  quick  in  gathering  ideas,"  said  Katherine,  dryly. 

"Yes;  some  subjects  inspire  me,"  he  returned,  handing  in  his 
cup.  "  Another,  please.  I  am  a  bit  of  a  physiogomist.  I  think  T 
could  give  a  rough  sketch  of  your  character."  He  stirred  the  fire 
to  a  brigiit  ;r  blaze  and  added,  "It  is  so  deuced  dark  since  tiiat 
shower  came  on  I  can  hardly  see  you,  but  I  will  tell  you  my  ideas, 
if  you  care  to  h(  ar  them." 

"  Yes,  I  sh  y.l-l,"  she  returned,  laughing.  "It  will  be  curious  to 
hear  the  result  of  an  instantaneous  estimate.  Why,  five  minutes 
ago  you  had  never  seen  me  " 

"  Five  minutes  ?  No  ;  ten  at  least.  Well,  then,  I  should  say  you 
are  a  remarkably  plucky  girl,  though  perhaps  not  impervious  to 
panic.  And,  let  me  see,"  hxing  his  keen,  tierceeyosoii  hers,  "  gifred 
with  no  small  power  of  enjoyment.  With  a  strong  dash  of  the  rebel 
in  vou,  and— well,  I  could  tell  you  more,  but  I  won't." 

Katherine  laughed  good-humoredly . 

"  Have  I  hit  it  off.'"'  he  asked,  after  waiting  for  her  to  speak, 

"  1  cannot  tell.    Do  we  ever  know  oiirselves  ?" 

"  That's  true  ;  but  few  admit  their  ignorance.  I  begin  to  think 
that  you  are  dangerous,  in  addition  to  your  other  qualities,  as  you 
can  refrain  from  discussing  yourself  ;  'that  is  a  bait  which  di-aws 
out  most  women. " 

"  And  most  men,"  added  Katherine,  "We  haven't  much  to  re- 
proach each  other  with  on  that  score. " 

"No,  I  must  admit  that.  Self  is  a  fascinating  topic' 
"Some  more  tea?"  asked  Katherine,  demurely. 
"  No,  thank  you.  I  am  not  absolutely  insatiable.  Tell  me,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  quaint  familiarity  wliich  was  not  oTensive,  "how 
can  a  girl  with  your  natnru -mind,  I  liave  not  told  Italf  I  gu<:8s  — 
how  can  you  stand  your  life  here— walking  about  with  those  brats, 
making  tea  while  the  others  are  out  amusing  themselves,  hammer- 
ing away  at  the  same  round  day  after  day  ?  You  ai-e  made  for 
different  things, " 


144  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  I  should  not  care  to  live  at  Castleford  all  the  days  of  my  life,** 
said  Katherine,  a  little  surprised  by  his  question,  and  feeling 
there  was  a  mistake  somewhere;  ''but  I  do  not  intend  to  stay 
long"." 

"Oh,  indeed!  How  do  you  get  on  with  Mrs.  Ormonde?  She 
doesn't  worry  you  about  the  boys?  She  is  a  jolly,  pretty  little 
woman  ;  but  you  are  not  exactly  the  sort  of  young  lady  I  "should 
have  fancied  would  be  her  choice." 

■'  Why  not?"  asked  Katharine,  beginning  to  see  his  mistake. 
"  Because  "— began  DeBurg-h,  looking  full  at  her,  and  then  paused. 
"  You  are  too  handsome  by  half  !"  were  the  words  on  his  lips,  but  he 
did  not  xitter  them  ;  he  substituted,  "You  don't  seem  quite  the  thing 
for  Mrs.  Ormonde." 

*'  She  finds  I  suit  her  admirably,"  said  Katherine,  gravely. 
"I  don't  quite  understand  " — De  Burgh  was  beginning,  when  the 
door  opened  tc  admit  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"Ah,  Mr.  De  Burgh,  I  did  not  expect  you  so  eax'ly  ;  but  I  am  glad 
Kathiirine  was  here  to  give  you  your  tea.  It  is  not" necessary  to  in- 
tro<luce  you.  I  was  afi-aid  you  would  have  been  caught  in  that 
shoAver,  Katie." 

"  AVe  just  escaped  it.  I  hope  Lady  Alice  has  found  shelter,  or  she 
will  renew  her  cold." 

'•  You  are  Miss  Liddcll,  then?"  said  De  Burgh,  as  he  placed  a  chai*' 
for  Mrs.  Ormonde  and  took  her  cloak. 

'  To  be  sure.     Didn't  you  guess  who  she  was  ?" 
"Mr.  De  Burgh  guessed  a  good  deal,  but  he  did  not  gtiess  my 
identity,"  said  Katherine,  handing  her  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  What !  Were  you  playing  at  cross  questions  and  crooked  an- 
swers ?" 

"Something  of  that  sort,"  he  returned,  and  changed  the  subject 
by  asking  if  tney  had  heard  how  Errington's  father  was. 

"  Better,  I  suppose,  for  Mr.  Errington  has  returned.  He  met  us 
when  we  were  in  Molford  Woods." 

"  I  dare  say  he  met  Alice  and  Miss  Brereton,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Or- 
monde ;  "they  were  riding  in  that  direction." 

"  Lady  Alice  will  be  taken  care  of,  then,"  said  Katherine,  and 
taking  her  hat  she  went  away,  seeing  that  Mrs.  Ormonde  Avas  quite 
ready  to  absorb  the  conversation. 

"So  that  is  Katherine  Liddell,"  said  De  Burgh,  looking  after 
her,  regardless  of  Mrs.  Ormonde's  declaration  tliat  she  was  going 
to  scold  him. 

"  Yes.    Is  she  not  like  what  you  expected?" 
"Expected?    I  did  not  expect  anything  ;  but  she  isn't  a  bit  like 
what  you  described." 

"How  so?    Did  I  say  too  much?" 
"  Yes,  a  great  deal  too  much,  but  the  wrong  way." 
"What  do  you  me^n  ?" 

"Why,  you  talked  as  if  she  was  a  regular  gushing  school -girl, 
rcadv  to  swallow  any  double-barrelled  compliment  one  chose  to 
offer^  whereas  she  is  a  finelv  developed  woman,  by  Jove  !  with 
brains  too,  or  I  am  much  mistaken.  Why,  my  charming  little 
friend,  she  is  older  in  some  ways  than  you  are." 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  145 

"Oh,  nonsense.    You  need  not  flatter  me." 
"  It's  not  flattery,  it's — " 

The  arrival  of  the  riding-  party  with  the  addition  of  Erringfton 
prevented  him  from  flnishing  Ills  sentence. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HANDLING  THE  RIBBONS. 

Db  Burgh  was  told  off  to  take  Katherine  in  to  dinner  that  day  and 
the  next,  and  bestowed  a  good  deal  of  his  attention  on  her  during-  the 
evening-.  He  rather  amused  her,  for  he  was  a  new  type  to  her.  The 
men  she  had  met  during-  her  sojourn  on  the  Continent  were  chiefly 
polished  French  and  Italians,  Avhoss  softness  and  respectful  manner 
to  women  were  perhaps  exag-g-crated,  and  a  sprinkling-  of  diplomatic 
and  dilettante  Eng-lishmen.  De  Burgh's  style  was  curiously— almost 
roughly— frank,  yet  there  was  an  unmistakable  air  of  distinction 
about  him.  He  seemed  not  to  think  it  Avorth  while  to  take  trouble 
about  anything,  yet  he  could  talk  well  when  by  chance  a  topic  inter- 
ested him,  Katnerine  would  have  been  very  dull  had  she  not  per- 
ceived that  he  was  attracted  by  her.  The  was  by  no  means  so 
exalted  a  character  as  to  be  indifferent  to  his  tribute  ;  nevertheless 
she  Avas  half  afraid  of  the  cynical,  outspoken,  high-born  Bohemian, 
who  seemed  to  have  small  respect  for  people  or  opmions.  She  showed 
little  of  this  feeling,  hoAvever,  haA'ing  held  her  OAvn  with  spirit  in 
their  various  argumi^nts,  as,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  they"rarely 
agreed. 

"  What  is  this  mysterious  piece  of  work  I  see  constantly  in  your 
hands?"  asked  Do  Burgh,  taking  his  place  beside  Katherine  when 
the  men  came  in  after  dinner  a  few  days  after  his  arrival. 

"  It  is  a  black  silk  stocking  for  Cecil." 

"One  of  the  nephews,  eh?  So  you  are  capable  of  knitting!  It 
must  be  a  dreary  occupation." 

"  No  ;  it  becomes  mechanical,  and  it  is  better  than  sitting  with 
folded  hands." 

"  I  am  not  sure  it  is.  I  have  great  faith  in  natures  that  can  take 
complete  rest — men  Avho  can  do  nothing,  absolutely  nothing — and  so 
create  a  reserve  fund  of  fresh  energy  for  the  next  hour  of  need. 
There  is  no  strength  in  fidgety  feverishness." 

"  There  is  not  much  feverishness  in  knitting,"  returned  Kather- 
ine, beginning  a  neAv  row. 

"There  is  very  little  feverishness  about  you,  yet  you  are  not 
placid.  I  am  extending  and  verifying  my  original  estimate  of  your 
character,  you  see." 

"  A  most  interesting  occupation,"  said  Katherine,  carelessly. 

"  Fr.s,  most  interesting.  I  wish  I  had  more  frequent  opportunities 
of  studyin"-  it ;  but  one  never  sees  you  all  day.  Where  do  you  hide 
yourself  ?' 

"  I  take  long  rambles  with  the  children,  and — "    She  paused. 

"Does  it  amuse  you  to  play  nurse  maid?" 


146  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  Yes,  at  present.  Then  my  nephews  and  I  were  playfellows  lon^ 
ago." 

"I  imagine  it  is  a  taste  that  will  not  last." 

"Perhaps  not." 

"  Miss  Brereton  and  Lady  Alice,  with  Erring-ton  and  myself ,  are 
ffoing  to  ride  over  to  Melford  Abbey  to-morrow.  You  will,  I  hope, 
Be  of  the  party?" 

"  Thank  you.    I  do  not  ride." 

"It  is  rather  refreshing  to  meet  a  young  lady  who  is  not  horsy, 
but  it  is  a  loss  to  yourself  not  to  ride." 

"I  dare  say  it  is.  Yet  what  one  has  never  known  cannot  be  a  loss. 
I  am  sorry  I  was  not  accustomed  to  ride  in  my  youth." 

"It  is  not  too  late  to  learn,  remote  as  that  period  must  be,"  said  De 
Burgh,  smiling.  "You  are  in  the  headquarters  of  horsemen  and 
horsewomen  at  present.  Appoint  me  j'our  riding-master,  and  in  a 
couple  of  months  I  shall  be  proud  of  my  pupil." 

"I  am  not  particularly  brave,"  she  returned,  "and  the  experi- 
ment would  produce  more  pain  than  pleasure." 

"  Pain  !  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  have  a  capital  lady's  horse,  steady 
as  a  rock,  splendid  pacer,  temper  of  an  angel.  He  is  quite  at  your 
service.  Let  me  tek'^raph  for  him,  and  begin  your  lessons  the  day 
after  to-morrow."  De  Burgh  raised  himself  from  his  lounging 
position,  and  leaned  forward  to  urge  his  pleading  more  earnestly. 
"  Let  me  persuade  you.    You  will  thank  me  hcrea:  ter." 

"Thank  you,''  said  Katherine,  shaking  her  head.  "It  is  too 
late.  I  shall  never  learn  how  to  ride,  but  I  should  like  to  know  how 
to  drive." 

"  There  I  can  be  of  use  to  you  too.  You  will  want  an  instructor. 
Pray  take  me  ! " 

The  last  words,  spoken  a  little  louder  than  the  rest,  caught  Mrs. 
Ormonde's  ear  as  she  was  crossing  the  room,  and  she  paused  beside 
her  sister-in-law  to  ask,  "  Take  him  for  what?— for  better  or  worse, 
Katherine?" 

"Blundering  little  idiot!"  thought  De  Burgh;  while  Katherine 
answered,  with  remarkable  composure, 

"  Nothing  so  formidable  ;  only  to  be  my  instructor  in  the  art  of 
driving." 

"  Well,  and  do  you  accept?" 

"Yes  ;  1  shall  be  very  pleased  to  learn.  I  should  like  to  be  able 
to  '  conduct'  a  pair  of  ponies,  as  the  French  would  say." 

"  Ah  3'es  !  and  cut  a  dash  in  the  Park,"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde, 
taking  the  seat  De  Burgh  reluctantly  vacated  for  her.  "1  don't  se^ 
why  she  should  not,  Mr.  De  Burgh  ;'^do  you?" 

"Certainly  not,  provided  only  Miss  Liddell  can  handle  the 
ribbons.'' 

"Very  well,  Katherine:  you  devote  yourself  to  acquire  the  art 
here,  and  then  join  us  in  a  house  in  town  this  sprin"-.  I  was  reading 
the  advertisements  in  the  Times  to-day.  I  always  look  at  the  hoiises 
to  let,  and  there  is  one  to  let  in  Chester  Square  which  would  suit  ua 
exactly  ;  that  is,  if  you  will  join.  She  ought  to  have  a  season  in 
town,  ought  she  not," Mr.  De  Burgh?" 

He  looked  keenly  at  Katherine,  and  smiled.     "  Yes,  Miss  Liddell 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  14*7 

ought  to  taste  the  incomparable  delig-hts  of  the  season  by  all  means. 
Life  is  incomplete  without  it." 

"Ishould'like  to  experience  it  certainly,  for  once,  but  I  shall  be 
more  in  the  mood  for  such  excitements  next  year— perhaps,"  return- 
ed Katherine,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Katie,  never  put  thing's  off  !  At  all  events,  be 
presented.  That  would  be  a  sort  of  beginning" ;  and  I  am  to  be  pre- 
sented too,  so  we  might  go  together." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  be  presented,"  said  Katherine  ;  "  it  would  be 
needless  trouble.    I  have  not  the  least  ambition  to  go  to  court." 

"  But,  Katherine,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  take  your  proper 
position  in  society.    It  is  not,  Mr.De  Burgh?" 

"What  is  your  objection?"  asked  De  Burgh,  disregarding  his 
hostess.     "  Are  you  too  radical,  or  too  transcendental,  or  what?" 

"Neither.  I  simply  do  not  care  to  go,  and  do  not  see  the  neces- 
sity of  going." 

"You  were  always  the  strangest  girl  !'*  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  a 
good  deal  annoyed,  "  But  still,  if  you  were  with  us,  you  might  see 
a  good  deal — " 

"  You  know,  Ada,  I  am  fixed  for  this  year,  and  would  not  change 
even  if  I  could." 

"Forgive  me  for  interrupting  you,"  said  Errington,  coming  from 
the  next  room.  "  But  if  you  are  disengaged,  Lady  Alice  would  be 
greatly  obliged  by  your  playing  for  her." 

"  Certainly,"  cried  Katherine.  She  had  a  sort  of  pleasure  in 
obliging  Errington,  and  Lady  Alice  for  his  sake  ;  and  putting  her 
knittinjj'  into  its  little  case,  she  rose  and  accompanied  him  to  what 
was  called  the  music-room,  because  it  contained  a  grand  piano  and 
an  old,  nearly  stringless  violin. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  De  Burgh,  looking  after  her,  "that  your 
sister-in-law  is  quite  as  much  under  your  influence  as  you  fancy." 

"Oh,  don't  you?"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  feeling  a  flash  of  dislike 
to  Katherine  thrill  througli  her.  It  was  terribly  trying  to  And  an 
admirer,  of  whom  she  was  so  proud,  drawn  from  her  by  that  "  tire- 
some, obstinate  girl  "  ;  it  was  also  enough  to  vex  a  saint  to  see  her 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  her  moi'e  experienced  and  highly  placed  sister's 
suggestion.  "When  you  know  a  little  more  of  her  j^ou  will  see 
how  obstinate  and  headstrong  she  is." 

"Ah!  troublesome  qualities  those,  especially  in  a  rich  woman, 
and  a  handsome  one  to  boot.  There  is  something  very  taking  about 
that  sister-in-law  of  yours,  Mrs.  Ormonde.  If  I  were  Lady  Alice  I 
wouldn't  trust  Errington  with  hevj  she  would  be  a  dangerous 
rival. " 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  Do  you  think  our  Admirable  Crichton  could 
go  wrong  ?" 

"I  don't  know.    If  he  ever  does,  he'll  go  a  tremendous  cropper." 

"  Well,  Mr.  De  Burgh,  if  you  would  like  to  go  in  and  win,  you 
had  better  make  the  running  now.  Once  she  '  comes  out '  in  town, 
you  will  find  a  host  of  competitors." 

"  Ha  !  I  suppose  you  think  a  rugged  fellow  like  me  would  have 
little  or  no  chance  with  the  curled  darlings  of  May  Fair  and  South 
Kensington  ?"    Mrs.  Ormonde  looked  down  on  her  fan,  but  did  not 


148  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

speak.    De  Burgh  laughed.    "  Who  is  going  to  bring  her  out?"  he 
asked. 

"I  am,"  with  dignity. 

De  Burgh's  reply  was  short  and  simple.  He  said,  "  Oh  !"  and  the 
interjection  (is  there  an  interjection  now? — I  am  not  young  unough 
to  know)  brought  the  color  to  Mrs.  Ormonde's  check  and  a  frown  to 
her  fair  brow.  "The  young  lady  is,  on  the  whole,  original,"  he 
continued.     "  She  does  not  care  to  be  presented." 

" Do  you  believe  her?  I  don't.  She  only  said  so  from  love  of 
contradicting." 

"Yes,  I  believe  her  ;  she  does  not  care  about  it  now  ;  but  she  will 
probably  get  the  court  fever  after  a  plunge  into  London  life.  Who 
IS  singing  ? — that  is  something  different  from  the  pininy  whistling 
Lady  Alice  gives  us." 

"  Why  it  miLst  be  Kathei'ine  !  It  is  the  first  time  she  lias  sung 
since  she  came.  She  it  always  afraid  of  breaking*  do.vn,  sh3  says. 
I  don't  believe  she  has  sung"  since  the  death  of  her  mother."  De 
Burgh's  only  reply  was  to  walk  into  the  next  room.  Leaving  Mrs. 
Ormonde  in  a  state  of  irritation  against  him,  Katherine,  and  the 
world  in  general. 

Katherine  was  singing  a  gay  Neapolitan  air.    She  had  a  rich, 
sympathetic  voice,  and  sang  with  arch  expression. 
'Errington  stood  beside  her,  and  Ladv  Alice,  the  rector's  wife  and 
one  or  two  other  guests,  were  groui)etI  romid. 

"Thank  you.  That  it  thoroug-hly  Italian.  You  must  have 
studied  a  good  deal,"  said  Errington,  who  rather  liked  muic,  and 
was  accustomed  to  the  best. 

"Very  nice  indeed,"  added  Lady  Alice.  "Very  nice"  washer 
highest  praise.     "I  should  like  to  learn  the  song." 

'■  I  do  not  think  it  would  suit  you,"  observetl  Errington. 

"  Why,  Katherine,  I  had  no  notion  you  could  'tune  up' in  this 
way,"  cried  Colonel  Ormonde.  "  Give  us  another,  like  a  good  girl; 
something  English — '  Robin  Adair. '  There  was  a  fellow  in  'ours' 
used  to  sing  it  capitally." 

"  I  cannot  sing  it.  Colonel  Ormonde.    I  am  very  sorry." 

"Oh,  J^^atherine  !  I  have  heard  you  sing  it  a  hundred  times," 
cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  joining  them.  '"Why,  it  was  a  great  favorite 
with  poor  dear  Mrs.  Liddell." 

"  I  cannot  sing  it,  Ada,"  repeated  Katherine,  quick  and  low.  As 
she  spoke  she  caught  Errington's  eyes. 

"  No  one  ought  to  dictate  to  a  songstress,"  he  said,  very  decidedly. 
"  Give  us  anvthing  you  like,  so  long  as  you  sing." 

Kate  bent  Iier  head,  feeling  that  he  understood  her,  and  her  hands 
wandered  over  the  keys  for  a  minute  ;  then,  with  a  glance  at  Col- 
onel Ormonde,  she  began  "Jock  o'  Hazeldean." 

Katherine  was  not  the  kind  of  girl  to  nurse  her  grief,  to  dwell 
upon  it  with  morbid  insistence :  but  she  remembered,  warmly, 
lovinglv.  At  times  gusts  of  passionate  regret  swept  over  her  and 
shook  her  self-control,  and  she  dared  not  attempt  her  mother's 
favorite  song  ;  the  mere  request  for  it  called  up  a  cloud  of  memories. 
She  saw  the  dear  face,  the  sweet  faded  blue  eyes  that  used  to  dwell 
uj-on  her  so  tenderly,  with  such  unutterable  content.    No  other  eyes 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  149 

■would  ever  look  upon  her  thus  ;  never  again  could  she  hope  for  such 
perfect  sympathy  as  she  had  once  known. 

"Does  that  make  up  for  'Robin  Adair,'  Colonel  Ormonde?"  she 
said  when  the  song-  Avas  endsJ. 

"  A  very  g-ood  song-  and  very  well  sung,  but  it's  not  equal  to 
'Robin  Adair.'" 

'Lady  Alice,  will  you  try  that  duet  of  Helmer's?"  asked  Kath- 
erine  ;  and  Lady  Alice  graciously  assented. 

"  T  shall  miss  your  accompaniment  dreadfully  when  I  leave,"  she 
said,  when  the  duet  was  accomplished.  "I  feel  so  sure  when  you 
play,  and  you  help  me.  I  hope  you  will  come  and  see  me.  Lady 
Mary,  my  aunt,  would  be  very  pleased ;  don't  you  think  she 
would  ?"  to  Erring'ton,  appealingly. 

"Certainly.  I  hope.  Miss  Lidd'ell,  you  will  not  desert  Alice.  If 
you  will  permit  it.  Lady  Mary  Vincent  will  have  the  pleasure  of 
calling  on  you." 

"That  will  be  very  kind,"  returned  Katherine,  softly.  If  this 
man  were  safely  married  and  settled,  she  thought,  she  would  like  to 
be  friends  with  his  wife,  and  serve  him  in  any  way  she  could.  If 
his  eyes  did  not  always  confuse  and  distress  her,  how  much  she 
could  like  him  ! 

As  she  rose  from  the  piano,  De  Bixrgh,  who  had  been  speaking 
aside  with  Colonel  Ormonde,  left  him  to  join  her.  "I  have  settleS 
it  all  with  Ormonde,"  he  said.  "I  am  to  have  the  pony-carriage 
and  the  dun  ])onies  (not  those  Mrs.  Ormonde  generally  drives)  to- 
morrow ;  so,  if  it  do3S  not  rain,  I'll  give  you  your  first  lesson  ;  that 
is,  i/you  will  allow  me." 

"You  are  very  prompt,"  returned  Katherine,  "  and  very  good  to 
take  so  much  trouble.  If  it  is  fine,  then,  to-morrow.  Pray  arm 
yourself  with  patience.    Are  not  the  dun  ponies  rather  frisky  ?" 

"Spirited,  but  free  from  vice.  Ormonde  had  them  from  nv/ 
stables.  If.s  no  use  learning  to  drive  with  dull,  inanimate  brutes. 
You'll  consi  ler  yourself  engaged?" 

"I  do,  if  Mrs."  Ormonde  does  not  want  me  to  go  anywhere  with 
her." 

"She  will  not,"  said  De  Burgh,  confidently. 

"  Good-nigiit,"  returned  Kafiu'rine.  "  Tell  Mrs.  Ormonde  I  have 
stolen  awav,  for  I  have  a  sli.^lu  headache." 

"Wiiat!  going  already?''  cried  De  Burgh.  "No  more  songs? 
The  evening,  then,  is  over." 

The  following  day  was  soft  and  bright.  March  had  evidently 
ina(l(»,  up  his  martial  mind  to  go  out  in  a  lamb-like  fashion,  and  Do 
L.^.^h  was  unusually  amiable  and  communicative.  "When  shall 
you  ))e  ready  to  start?"  he  asked,  following  Katherine  from  the 
breakfast-table. 

"  To  start  where  ?"  she  asked. 

"What!  have  you  forgotten  our  plans  of  last  night?"  was  his 
counter-question.  "I  am  to  give  you  your  first  lesson  in  driving 
this  morning.  I  only  wait  j'our'  orders  before  going  to  see  the 
ponies  put  in.    We  had  better  tal<e  advantage  of  the  fine  morning." 

"Ay,  that's  right,  De  Biirgh  ;  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,'* 


150  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

said  Ormonde,  with  his  usual  tact  and  jocularity.     "But  it  would 
bo  better  to  have  tried  a  quieter  pair  than  Dick  and  Dandie." 

"  I  think  you  may  trust  Miss  Liddell  to  ms,"  returned  De  Burgh, 
impatiently^     "Weil,  when  shall  I  bring  round  the  trap?" 

"  Whenever  you  like.  1  am  afraid  you  have  set  yourself  a  tire- 
some task." 

De  Burgh  laugh ijd.  "  If  you  prove  careless  or  disobedient,  why, 
I'll  not  repeat  the  dose.  In  half  an  hour,  then,  I'll  have  the  carriage 
at  the  door."' 

That  half-hour  was  spent  by  Katherine  in  explaining  to  Cis  and 
Charlie  that  she  could  not  go  out  with  them  that  day,  for  the  morn- 
ing was  promised  to  De  Burgh,  and  after  luncheon  she  had  under- 
taken to  try  over  the  song  which  had  pleased  her  with  Lady  Alice, 
who  was  to  leave  the  next  day.  The  little  fellows  thought  them- 
selves very  ill  used.  But  Miss  Richards,  who  had  greatly  prized 
her  deliverance  from  long  muddy  rambles  since  Katherine's  advent, 
promised  to  take  them  to  fish  in  a  stream  which  ran  between  the 
Castleford  and  Melford  properties. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  shall  dare  to  touch  the  reins  of  these  terrible 
creatures  ?"  said  Katherine  when  De  Burgh  dashed  up  to  the  door, 
and  held  the  spirited,  impatient  animals  steady  with  some  difficulty. 

"  We'll  get  rid  of  some  of  the  steam  first,  and  you  will  get  accus- 
tomed to  their  playfulness,"  he  returned.  "  Here,  Ormonde,  ha/en't 
you  a  rug  for  Miss  Liddell?    It  may  come  on  to  rain." 

"  Yes  ;  here  you  are  ;"  and  Colonel  Ormonde,  who  was  examining 
the  turnout,  tucked  up  his  fair  guest  carefully,  and  warned  them  to 
be  back  in  good  time,  as  he  wanted  De  Burgh  to  ride  over  with  him 
to  see  some  horses  which  were  for  sale  a  mile  or  two  at  the  other  side 
of  Monckton. 

"  What  a  frightful  pace  ;"  said  Katherine,  after  they  had  whirled 
out  of  the  gates,  yet  feeling  comforted  by  De  Burgh's  evident  mastery 
of  the  ponies. 

"You  are  not  frightened?  Don't  you  think  I  can  manage 
them  ?" 

"I  am  not  comfortable,  because  I  am  not  accustomed  to  horses  and 
furious  driving." 

"Oh,  they  will  settle  down  presently.  Where  shall  we  go — 
through  Garston  ?    It's  a  fine  place.    Perhaps  you  have  seen  it?" 

"  I  have  not,  and  I  should  like  to  see  it  very  much.  She  was  de- 
lighted with  the  suggestion.  It  would  be  a  help  to  her,  a  consolation, 
to  see  so  visible  a  token  of  Errington's  wealth. 

"  Curious  fellow,  Errington,"  resumed  De  Burgh.  "  I  suppose  he 
is  about  tne  only  man  who  isn't  spoiled  by  the  most  unbroken  pros- 
perity. Still,  a  fellow  who  never  did  anything  wrong  in  his  life  is 
rather  uninteresting  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"Has  h J  never  done  anything  wrong?  That  seems  rather  in- 
credible." 

"If  he  has,  he  has  kept  it  deucedly  close.  But  you  are  right  ;  it 
is  very  incredible." 

They  drove  on  for  a  while  in  silence.  It  was  a  delicious  morning 
— a  blue  sky  flecked  with  fleecy  white  clouds,  bright  sunlight,  birds 
singing,  hedges  budding,  all  nature  welcoming  the  first  swe©t  in- 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  151 

toxication  of  renewed  youth  stirrings  in  her  veins.  Katherine  loved 
the  spring-time,  and  felt  its  influence  profoundly,  but  it  was  the  first 
spring  in  which  she  had  been  alone  ;  this  time  last  year  she— t^T" — 
had  been  at  Bordigh^ra.  How  heavenly  fair  it  had  been !  Bui-  De 
Burgh  was  speaking  : 

"You  did  not  hear,  or  rather  heed,  what  I  said,  MissLiddell ;  that's 
not  civil." 

"  Indeed  it  is  not— forgive  me.    What  did  you  sav?" 

"I  suppose  you  like  country  life  best,  as  you  demolished  Mrs. 
Ormonde's  sclieme  respecting  a  house  in  town  so  promptly  ?" 

"I  enjoy  looking  at  the  country,  but  I  know  nothing  of  country 
life.    I  am  not  sure  I  should  like  it." 

"What's  your  objection  to  drawing-rooms  and  balls— the  season 
generally  ?"" 

"I  do  not  object ;  but  is  my  deep  mourning  suited  to  these  gay  eties, 
Mr.  De  Burgh  i"' 

"  Well,  no.  /beg  your  pardon.  Mrs.  Ormonde  started  it,  you 
know.  I  fancy  it  would  take  double-distilled  mourning  to  keep  her 
out  of  the  swiin." 

"  It  is  impossible  for  one  nature  to  judge  another  which  is  totally 
different,  fairly." 

"  Very  true  and  very  prudent.  I  have  not  got  to  the  bottom  of 
your  character  yet,  but  I  am  pursuing  my  studies,"  said  De  Burgh, 
with  a  grim  sort  of  smile.  "  You  see  they  are  settling  down  to  their 
work  now,"  pointing  his  whip  to  the  ponies.  "I'll  give  you  the 
reins  in  a  minute  or  two." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  begin  with  something  quieter,"  said  Kather- 
ine,  looking  at  them  uneasily. 

De  Burgh  laughed.  "There  is  a  nice  stretch  of  level  road  before 
us— nothing  to  interfere  with  you.  Change  places  with  me,  if  you 
please.  Here,  put  the  reins  between  your  fingers— so  ;  now  a  turn 
of  the  wrist  guides  them.  I'll  hold  your  hand  for  a  bit.  You  had 
better  not  let  the  whip  touch  them — so.  Tiiere  you  are.  I'll  show 
you  how  to  handle  the  ribbons  before  you  are  a  fortnight  older ;  that 
is  if  you  will  come  out  every  day  witli  me." 

"  Would  you  take  that  trouble?"  exclaimed  Katherine. 

"  I  can  take  a  good  deal  of  trouble  if  I  like  my  work.  Now  hold 
them  steady,  and  keep  your  eye  on  them.  When  we  come  to  the 
trees,  on  there,  turn  to  the  left." 

"So  far  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  difficulty;  they  seem 
to  go  all  right  of  their  own  accord,"  she  said,"  after  a  few 
minutes. 

"  They  are  a  capital  pair  ;  but  there  is  nothing  to  disturb 
them." 

For  the  rest  of  the  way  to  Garston,  De  Burgh  only  spoke  to  give 
the  lesson  he  had  undertaken,  ai'.d  Katherine  found  herself  growing 
interested  and  pleased.  When  they  entered  the  gates,  however,  she 
asked  him  to  take  the  reins.  She  wanted  to  look  about  her,  to  remark 
the  surroundings  of  Errington's  house. 

It  was  a  fine  place,  somewhat  flat,  perhaps,  but  beautiful  with 
splendid  trees,  and  a  small  lake,  through  which  ran  the  stream 
in  another  part  of  which  Cis  and  Charlie  were  going  to  fish.    The 


152  A  CROOKED  PATa 

house  stood  well,  the  grounds  were  admirably  laid  out  and  perfectly 
kept ;  evidences  of  wealth  were  on  all  sides. 

"I  suppose  it  costs  a  great  deal  of  money  to  keep  up  a  place  like 
this,"  said  Katherine,  breaking-  a  silence  which  had  lasted  some 
minutes :  De  Burgh  never  troubled  himself  to  speak  unless  he  really 
had  something  to  say. 

"I  shouldn't  care  to  live  here  on  less  than  ten  thousand  a  year, " 
he  returned,  glancing-  round. 

"And  has  Mr.  Erring-ton  all  that  money?" 

"  His  father  has  a  good  deal  more.  He  bouo^-ht  this  place  for  him, 
I  believe.  Old  Errington  is  very  wealthy,  and  on  his  last  legs,  from 
what  I  hear." 

"  Ten  thousand  a  year !    What  a  quantity  of  money  !" 

"  Hem  !  I  think  I  could  get  through  it  without  much  trouble." 

"  Then  you  have  always  been  rich  ?" 

"Rich  r I  have  been  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy  all  my  life,  I 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  enough  money." 

"But  you  seem  to  have  gone  every  where  and  done  every  thing." 

"  Yes,  by  discounting  my  future  at  a  ruinous  rate,"  he  returned, 
with  a  sort  of  reckless  candor  that  amused  his  hearer.  "You  scarcely 
understand  me,  I  suppose." 

"  I  think  I  do.  I  know  how  uncomfortable  it  is  to  want  money." 

"  Indeed  !    Still,  it's  not  so  hard  on  women  as  on  men." 

"Why?" 

**  We  want  so  much  more." 

"  Then  you  have  so  many  more  chances  of  earning  it." 

"  Earning  it !    Oh,  that  is  a  new  view  of  the  case  r 

"I  should  not  mind  doing  it ;  that  is,  if  I  could  succeed." 

' '  Do  you  know,  I  took  you  for  your  nephews'  governess.  It  never 
crossed  my  mind  you  were  an  heiress.  As  a  riile,  heiresses  are  re- 
volting to  the  last*^ degree." 

"I  feel  the  compliment." 

"Remember.  I  like  their  money,  only  I  object  to  its  being  en- 
cumbered." 

"You  are  wonderfull3'  frank,  Mr.  De  Burgh." 

"  I  dare  say  you  said  'brutally  frank'  in  your  thoughts,  Mi.ss 
Liddell,  and  you  are  right.  I  am  rather  a  bad  lot,  and  a  little  too 
old  to  mend. "  But  let  it  be  a  saving  clause  in  your  mind,  if  I  ev;'r 
recur  to  it,  that  the  fact  of  your  being  nice  enough  for  tlie  governess 
impelled  me  to  offer  driving  lessons  to  the  heiress.  Will  you  ta'<v- 
the  reins?    You  might  hold  them  forever  if  you  choose." 

" Not  yet,  thank  you— when  we  get  out  on  the  road  again,"  re- 
turned Katherine,  not  seeing  or  seeming  to  see  his  covert  meaning. 
"  You  are  surely  not  a  democrat  ?" 

"A  democrat  ?  No.  I  have  no  particular  view  as  regards  politics  ; 
but  if  the  devil  ever  got  so  completely  the  upper  hand  in  this  Avorkl 
as  to  leave  it  without  a  class  to  serve  and  obey  us,  their  natural 
superiors,  I'd  decline  to  stay  here  any  longer,  and  descend  bv  the 
help  of  a  bullet  to  lower  regions,  where  I  should  have  bett(n-  society." 

"  More  congenial  society,  I  am  sure,"  said  Katherine,  laughing, 
though  revolted  by  his  tone.  She  felt  it  would  never  do  to  r.how  she 
was.    "  You  are  quite  difiPerent  from  any  one  I  ever  met.    Do  you 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  153 

kno^^',  yoti  give  me  the  idea  of  a  -wicked  Norman  Baron  in  the 
Middle  Ages." 

De  Eiirgh  laughed,  as  if  he  rather  enjoyed  the  observation.  "  I 
know,"  he  said  ;  "a  regular  melodramatic  villain,  '  away  with  him 
to  the  lowest  dungeon  beneath  the  castle  moat '  sort  of  fellow^  who 
would  draw  a  Jew's  teeth  before  breakfast  and  roast  a  restive 
burgher  after.  I  wonder,  considering  you  possess  the  two  stron^-est 
attractions  for  men  of  this  description— money  and  (may  I  say  it  ?) 
beauty— that  you  trust  yourself  with  me." 

"Ah  !  you  concealed  your  vile  opinions  successfully  ;  so  you  see 
I  could  not  know  my  danger, "returned  Katherine,  laughing'.  "  You 
are  not  at  all  a  modern  man." 

"  I  accept  the  compliment." 

"Which  I  did  not  intend  for  one.  "When  we  get  through  the 
gates  I  will  take  the  reins  again." 

"Certainly  ;  but  the  ix)nies'  heads  will  be  turned  homeward,  and  I 
am  afraid  tlioy  will  i)ull.  They  have  steadied  down  wonderfully." 
The  rest  of  the  drive  was  spent  in  careful  instruction,  axid  Katherine 
was  surprised  to  find  how  quickly  the  time  had  gone  when  they 
reached  the  house. 

De  Burgh  interested  her  in  spite  of  her  dislike  of  the  opinions  and 
sentiments  he  expressed.  There  Avas  something  picturesque  about 
the  man,  and  she  felt  that  he  was  attracted  to  her  in  a  curious  and 
almost  alarming  manner.  Yet  she  was  conscious  of  an  inclination 
to  play  with  lire.  It  was  some  time  since  she  felt  so  light-hearted. 
The  sight  of  Errington's  luxurious  surroundings  seemed  to  take 
somethino-  from  the  load  upon  her  conscience,  and  this  sense  of 
partial  relief  gave  brilliancy  to  her  eyes,  as  the  fresh  balmy  air  gave 
ner  sometiiino'  of  her  former  rich  coloring. 

"  By  Jove  ! '  cried  Colonel  Ormonde,  as  Katherine  took  her  place 
at  luncheon,  "your  drive  has  agreed  with  you.  I've  never  seen  you 
look  so  well.  You  must  pursue  the  treatment.  How  did  she  get 
on,  De  Burgh  ?" 

"Not  so  badly.  But  Miss  Liddell  is  more  timid  than  I  expected. 
She'll  get  accustom  ;d  to  the  look  of  the  cattle  in  a  little  while. 
Coura.r*'  is  largely  made  up  of  a  habit.  I'll  take  some  of  that  cold 
lamb,  Ormonde."  And  De  Burgh  spoke  no  more  till  he  had  finished 
his  luncheon. 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Liddell,  that  my  father  was  an  old  friend  of 
your  uncle's?"  said  Err ington  that  evening,  as  he  placed  himself 
beside  her  on  a  retired  sofa,  while  Miss  Brereton  was  executing  soma 
gymnastics  on  the  piano.  "  I  have  just  been  taking  to  Ormonde 
about  him.  I  remember  having  bean  si^nt  to  call  upon  him— long 
ago,  when  I  was  at  college,  I  think.  He  lived  in  some  wild  north- 
land  ;  I  remember  it  was  a  great  Avay  off.  Thc;n  my  father  went  for 
a  tx-ip  to  Calcutta,  and  1  fancy  lost  si^'lit  of  his  old  chum." 

Katherine  grew  r.xl  and  white  as  he  spoke  ;  she  could  only  mur- 
mur, "  Yes,  1  was  told  they  had  been  friends." 

"Then  vou  must  accept  me  as  a  hereditary  friend,"  said  Erring- 
ton,  kindly.  "I  shall  tell  my  father  that  I  have  made  your  ac- 
fuaintance,  though  he  does  not  take  much  interest  in  any  thmg  now, 
am  sorry  to  say." 


154  A  CROOKED  FATI^ 

"  I  am  sorry—"  faltered  Katherine. 

**  Both  Lady  Alice  and  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeinpr  you 
In  town,"  continued  Erring-ton,  having"  waited  in  vain  for  neV  to 
finish  her  sentence.  "  I  am  going  to  see  her  saf(!ly  in  her  aunt's 
charge  to-morrow,  and  shall  not  return,  I  fancy,  till  you  have  left." 

"  You  are  both  very  good.  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  see  you 
again,"  returned  Katherine,  mastering  her  forces,  though  she  felt 
ready  to  fly  and  hide  her  guilty  head  in  any  corner.  Errington  felt 
that  she  was  unusually  uneasy  and  uncomfortable  with  him,  so 
made  way  the  more  readily  for  De  Burgh,  who  monopolized  her  for 
rest  of  the  evening. 

The  next  day  was  wet,  and  for  a  week  the  weather  was  unsettled, 
so  that  Katherine  had  only  one  more  lesson  in  driving  before  the 
party  broke  up,  and  De  Burgh  too  was  obliged  to  leave. 

But  Katherine  prolonged  her  stay.  Charlie,  in  ardor  for  lishing, 
had  slipped  into  the  river  and  caiight  a  severe,  feverish  cold. 

The  way  in  which  he  clung  to  his  auntie,  the  evident  comfort  he 
derived  fi-om  her  presence,  the  delight  he  had  in  holding  her  cool 
soft  hand  in  his  own  burning  little  fingers,  made  him  impossible 
for  her  to  leave  him.  Bv  the  time  he  Avas  able  to  sit  up  and  play 
with  his  brother,  poor  Ciiarlie  was  a  pallid  little  skeleton,  and  his 
auntie  bade  him  a  tender  adieu,  determined  to  lose  no  time  in  find- 
ing sea-side  quarters  for  the  pi'ecious  invalid. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

TAKING   COUNSEL. 

Miss  Payne  was  busy  looking  over  several  cards  which  lay  in 
a  small  china  dish  on  her  work-table.  It  was  early  in  the,  fore- 
noon, and  she  still  wore  a  simple  muslin  cap  and  a  morning  gown  ot 
grav  cashmere.  Her  mouth  looked  very  rig'id  and  her  eyes  gloomy. 
To  lier  enters  her  brother,  fresh  and  bright,  a  smile  on  his  lips  and 
a  llower  in  his  button-hole. 

' !Miss  Pa\ne  vouchsafed  no  greeting.    Looking  at  him  sternly,  she 
asked.  "  Well !  what  do  you  want  ?" 

"  To  a.sk  at  what  hour  Miss  Liddell  arrives,  and  if  I  am  to  meet 
her  at  the  station." 

"She  is  not  coming  to-day,"  snapped  Miss  Payne;  "she  is  not 
coming  till  Saturday." 

"  Indeed  !"    In  a  changed  tone,  "  I  hope  she  is  all  right?" 

"It's  hard  to  answer  that.  It  seems  one  of  the  n(;phews  has  had  a 
feveri.'^h  cold,  and  she  did  not  like  to  leave  him.  I  do  not  feel  sure 
there  is  not  some  real  reason  under  this,  for  she  adds  that  she  is 
anxious  to  see  and  consult  me  about  some  matter  she  has  much  at 
heart.     Perhaps  there  if  a  man  at  the  bottom  it." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Bertie,  qxiietly,  "unless  she  has  found  some 
former  friend  at  Castleford.  I  do  not  think  Jliss  Liddell  is  the  sort 
of  girl  to  accept  a  man  on  five  or  six  weeks'  acquaintance,  and  she 
has  scarcely  been  at  Castleford  so  long,^ 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  155 

•'  It  is  impossible  to  fathom  the  folly  of  -women  when  a  lover  is  in 
^e  case." 

"  You  are  hard,  Hannah." 

"  I  do  not  care  whether  I  am  or  not.  I  don't  want  to  lose  Misa 
Liddell  before  the  time  agreed  for." 

"  No  doubt  she  is  a  prolitable — " 

"It  is  no  question  of  profit,"  interrupted  Miss  Payne,  grimly. 
"  Whether  she  g-oes  or  whether  she  stays  she  is  bound  to  me  linanci- 
ally  for  twelve  months.  But  I  am  interested  in  Katherine,  and  it 
will  be  far  better  for  her  to  stay  on  here  and  feel  her  way  before  she 
launches  into  the  whirl  of  what  they  call  society.  I  Avant  to  save 
her  for  a  while  from  the  wild  rush  of  dressing-^  driving-,  dining-, 
dancin,;^,  that  has  swept  away  all  my  o-irls  sooner  or  later.  Look 
here:  tlie  mothers  are  flocking*  round  her  already."  She  beg-an  to 
take  the  cards  out  of  the  dish  and  read  the  names:  "Lady  Mary 
Vincent,  2:3  Waldegrave  Crescent  ;  she  is  a  sister  of  that  Lord  Mel- 
ford  who  ran  such  a  rig-  years  ago.  Her  boys  are  still  at  Eton.  I 
suppose  she  comes  because  her  niece  and  Miss  Liddell  have  struck 
up  a  friendship  at  Castleford.  Then  here  are  Mrs.  and  Miss  Alford; 
we  all  knew  them  in  Rome  ;  there's  a  son  there  ;  they  are  respect- 
able people,  well  o!f,  and  fighting  their  way  up  judiciously  enough. 
Lady  Barrington  ;  she  has  a  nephew,  but  she  will  be  useful.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Tracey  ;  they  were  at  Florence,  and  have  a  couple  of 
daughters  ;  there  may  be  a  nephew  or  a  cousin,  but  I  never  heard 
of  one  ;  they  are  pleasant,  sensible,  artistic  people,  who  just  enjoy 
themselves  and  don't  trouble.  Lady  Mildred  Keptan,  Miss  Brereton, 
John  de  Burgh  ;  I  don't  know  these.  All  these  people  evidently 
think  she  is  in  town,  or  have  only  just  come  themselves,  but  you 
see  the  outlook." 

"John  de  Burgh,"  repeated  Bertie,  thoughtfully.  "I  remember 
something  about  him  ;  nothing  particularly  good.  I  believe  he  is 
on  the  turf.  Yes,  he  is  a  famous  steeplechase  rider,  and  rather  fast 
—not  too  desirable  a  follower  for  Miss  Liddell." 

"  She  met  him  at  Castleford,  and  I  rather  think  he  is  related  to 
Colonel  Ormonde."  Miss  Payne  put  back  the  cards  in  the  dish  as 
she  spoke,  and  remained  silent  for  some  instants. 

"  You  will  be  glad  when  Miss  Liddell  returns,"  said  Bertie. 

"  So  will  you,"  she  returned,  tartly.  "But  I  hope  you  won't  dip 
into  her  purse  so  freely  as  you  used  for  your  reformed  drunkards 
and  ragged  orphans.    It  was  too  bad." 

"  Mis.s  Liddell  never  w^aits  to  be  asked.  She  seems  on  the  lookout 
for  cases  on  which  to  bestow  money.  As  she  has  plenty,  why  shoxild 
I  hesitate  to  accept  it  ?" 

Miss  Payue  slowly  rubbed  her  nose  with  the  handle  of  a  small  hook 
she  used  for  pulling  out  the  loops  of  her  tatting.  "  Katherine  Lid- 
dell is  an  uncommon  sort  of  girl,"  she  said,  "  but  I  like  her.  J  have 
an  idea  that  she  likes  me  better  than  any  of  the  others  did,  yet  thei-e 
are  not  many  things  on  which  we  agree.  She  is  a  little  flighty  in 
some  ways,  but  she  lias  some  sense  too,  some  notion  of  the  value  of 
money  ;  she  does  not  lose  her  dead  about  dress,  nor  does  she  buy 
costly  baubles  at  the  jewellers'.  She  certainly  wastes  a  good  many 
pounds  on  books,  when  a  three-guinea  subscription  to  Mudie's  woufd 


166  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

answer  the  purpose  quite  as  well.  Then  she  is  honestly  deeply 
grieved  at  the  loss  of  her  mother,  but  she  does  not  parade  it,  "or  nurse 
it  either,  and  I  thinlv  she  has  some  opinion  of  my  judgment.  Still 
she  is  a  little  unsettled,  and  not  quite  happy." 

"I  think  she  deserves  to  be  happy,"  observed  Bertie,  with  an  air 
of  conviction—"  if  any  erring-  mortal  can  deserve  anything-." 

"  We  seldom  g'et  our  deserts,  either  way,  here  ;  indeed,  this  world 
is  so  upside  down  I  am  inclined  to  believe  there  must  be  another  to 
put  it  straight." 

"We  have  fortunately  better  proof  than  that,"  returned  her 
brother,  gravel  v. 

"  I  must  say  1  feel  very  curious  to  know  what  Katherine's  plan  is  ; 
I  am  terrible  afraid  there  is  a  man  in  it." 

"Nothing-  more  probable;"  and  Bertie  fell  into  a  fit  of  thoug-ht. 
"You  know  Mrs.  Neadham  !"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Well,  1  just  know  her." 

"  She  is  a  most  earnest,  energ-etic  woman,  thoug-h  we  are  notnuite 
of  one  mind  on  all  subjects.  She  wants  to  secure  Mi.ss  LidaeU's 
assistance  in  g-etting-  up  a  bazar  for  the  Stray  Children's  Home.  I 
shall  bring-  her  to  call  on  you." 

"  Don't ! "—very  emphatically.  "I  know  more  than  enoug-h 
people  already,  and  I  don't  want  any  well-dressed  beg-gars  added 
to  the  number." 

"  Well,  1  will  not  interfere  ;  but  that  is  of  little  consequence.  If 
Mrs.  Needham  wants  to  come,  she'll  come," 

"I  hate  these  fussy  subscription-hunting-  women!"  cried  Miss 
Paj'ne. 

"  She  does  not  hunt  for  subscriptions,  nor  does  she  take  any  special 
interest  in  relig-ious  matters,  but  she  approves  of  this  particular 
charity.  She  is  an  immensely  busy  woman,  and  writes  in  I  don't 
know  how  many  newspapers." 

"  Nev.spapers  !  And  are  our  opinions  made  up  for  us  b\-  rambling- 
hussies  of  tliut  description  ?" 

Bertie  burst  out  laughing-.  "  If  Mrs.  Needham  heard  you  !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "She  considers  herself  'the  g-la.ss  of  fashion  and  the 
mould  of  form,'  the  most  successful  and  important  woman  in  the 
world— the  English  world." 

Miss  Pavne's  only  reply  was  a  contemptuous  xipward  toss  of  the 
head.  "  If  you  will  be  at  Euston  Square  on  Saturday  to  meet  the 
five-fifty  train  from  Monckton,"  sherosnmed,  "I  should  be  obliged 
to  you— Miss  Liddell  travels  alone— and  you  can  dine  with  us  if  you 
like  after,  unless  you  an;  going  to  preach  the  gosjwl  somewhei*e. " 

"  Thank  yoii.   "^Why  do  yoii  obj/ct  to  my  preaching  ?" 

"  Because  I  like  things  done  decently  and  in  order.  You  are  not 
ordained,  and  there  are  p!  -iity  of  caurchcs  and  chap.'ls,  God  knows, 
for  {Xjople  to  go  to.  if  th  ;y  would  wash  their  faces  and  be  decent. 
Now  I  can't  stav  here  any  longer,  so  good-by  for  the  present."  She 
took  up  a  little  basket  containing  an  old  pair"  of  gloves,  large  scissors, 
and  a  ball  of  twine,  and  walked  briskly  away  to  attend  to  the  plants 
in  her  diminutive  conservatory. 

De  Burgh  did  not  prolongs  his  absence ;  he  returned  to  Castleford 


A  CROOKED   PAT&.  157 

while  Katherine  was  still  in  attendance  on  the  little  invalid  ;  but  he 
found  his  stay  neither  pleasant  nor  profitable.  Katherine  was  far 
too  much  occupied  nursing-  her  nephew  to  give  any  time  or  attention 
to  her  impatient  admirer. 

"  Miss  Liddell  is  a  peculiar  specimen  of  her  sex,"  he  g-rowled,  in 
his  usu  .1  candid  and  unaffected  manner,  as  he  and  Colonel  Ormonde 
sat  alone  over  their  wine.  "  She  never  Icava^  t'Aise  brats.  She 
must  know  that  it's  not  every  girl  /  should  take  the  trouble  of  teach- 
ing", and  yet  she  throws  over  each  appointment  I  make.  Does  she 
intend  to'adopt  your  wife's  boys?  Adopted  sons  are  an  appendage 
no  man  would  like  to  accept  with  a  bride,  be  she  ever  so  well 
endowed." 

"  Oh,  she  will  forget  them  as  soon  as  she  falls  in  love !  You  must 
carry  on  'he  siege  more  vigorously." 

"  How  the  deuce  are  you  to  do  it  when  you  never  get  within  hail 
of  the  fortress  ?  There  is  something  peculiar  about  Katherine  Lid- 
dell I  can't  quite  make  out.  If  she  .were  a  commonplace  woman, 
angular,  squinting,  or  generally  plain,  I  could  go  in  and  win  and 
collar  the  cash  without  hesitation,  but  somehow  or  other  I  can't  go 
into  the  affair  in  this  spirit.  I  want  the  woman  as  well  as  the 
money." 

"Well,  I  see  no  reason  Avhy  you  shouldn't  have  both.  Your 
faintness  of  heart  never  lost  yon  any  fair  lady,  I  am  sure,  Jack." 

"Perhaps  not."  And  he  smoked  meditatively  for  a  minute  or 
two. 

"  Then  you  will  not  leave  us  to-morrow  ?"  said  Ormonde. 

"  When  does  she  go  up  to  town?"  asked  Do  Burgh. 

"  On  Monday,  I  believe." 

"  Then  I'll  run  up  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Old  De  Burgh  has 
just  come  back  from  the  Eiviera.  I'll  go  and  do  the  dutiful,  and  tell 
nim  I  have  found  a  suitable  partner  for  my  joys  and  sorro^vs  ;  it 
will  score  to  my  credit.  He  doesn't  half  like  me,  you  know.  Then 
I'll  have  a  dozen  better  chances  to  cultivate  Miss  Liddell  in  town, 
and  away  from  your  nursery,  than  I  have  here.  Give  me  her  ad- 
dress. She  is  a  frank,  unconventional  creature,  and  Avon't  mind 
coming  out  with  me  alone." 

"  Very  true.  Mrs.  Ormonde  has  persuaded  me  to  take  her  to 
town  for  a  couple  of  months  ;  so  we'll  be  there  to  back  you  up." 

"Good  !  Meanwhile  I  will  do  my  best  for  my  own  hand.  If  she 
starts  on  Monday,  I'll  pay  my  respects  to  the  peerless  one  by  the 
time  she  has  swallowed  her  luncheon  on  Tuesday,"  said  De  Burgh, 
with  a  harsh  laugh. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  De  Burgh's  card  was  amongst  those  pro- 
served  for  Katherine's  inspection  ;  but  she  postponed  her  departure 
first  to  Wednesday,  next  to  Saturday,  and  De  Burgh  grew  savagely 
impatient  when  Colonel  Ormonde  informed  him  of  these  changes  in 
a  private  note. 

When  at  last  she  did  arrive.  Miss  Payne  was  struck  by  the  look 
of  renewed  hope  and  cheerfuln(>,ss  in  her  young  friend's  face.  Her 
movements  even  were  more  alert,  and  her  voice  had  lost  its  languid 
tone. 

*'  I  thought  you  would  find  it  difficult  to  get  away,"  said  Miss 


158  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Payne,  as  she  assisted  her  to  remove  her  travelling-  dress.  "But  1 
am  very  pleased  to  see  you  ag-ain,  and  to  see  you  looking  more  like 
yourself.  ' 

*^  "I  feet  more  like  mv  old  self,"  returned  Katherine,  actually 
kissing  Miss  Payne— a  feind  of  treatment  exceedingly  new  to  her. 
"la  fact,  I  am  full  of  a  project  which  will,  I  hope,  make  me  much 
hajipier.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  after  dinner,  if  we  are  alone. 
Your  advice  will  be  of  great  value  to  me." 

"  Such  as  it  is,  I  shall  l)e  glad  to  give  it ;  though  I  do  not  suppose 
you'll  take  it  luiless  it  suits  \o\\v  wishes." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Katherine,  laughing  ;  "  but  I  think  it  will." 

"She  is  going  to  marry  some  fortune-hunting  scamp,"  thou^-ht 

Miss  ^ayne.     "I  was  afraid  no  good  would  come  of  her  visit  to  that 

little  drossy  dolly  sister-in-law  of  hers"    She  only  said,   "Dinner 

will  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,  and  we  shall  bo  quite  alone." 

Then  she  went  quickh-  down  stairs  to  her  bi'other,  who  was  gazing 
out  of  the  window,  but  not  seeing  what  he  looked  at. 

"  You  can't  dine  here  to-day,  Bertie,"  said  Miss  Payne,  abruptly, 
as  she  entered  the  room. 
"And  why  not?" 

"  Because  she  wants  to  have  some  confidential  conversation  with 
me  after  dinner,  and  we  must  be  alone." 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  it  will  be  about?" 
"No  ;  and  I  am  astonished  at  your  putting  the  question.    You 
may  come  in  after  church  tomorrow  if  you  like." 

"Thank  you.  I  shall  be  rather  late,  as  I  am  going  to  an  open-air 
service  beyond  Whitechajx^l." 

"  Well,  I  do  hope  you'll  get  something  to  eat  after.  Are  you  going 
to  preach  ?" 

"No.    I  seldom  preach.    I  haven't  the  gift  of  eloquence." 
""Which  means  you  have  a  little  common-sense  left.    Really, 
Gilbert,  for  a  man  of  thirty-five,  or  nearly  thirty -five,  you  are  too 
credulous." 

"  It  is  my  nature  to  be  so,"  he  returned,  lau;^hino\  "  Well,  good- 
by  to  you. "  It  is  really  unkind  to  turn  me  out  in  this  uncereraonioiis 
fashion."  So  saying,"with  his  usual  sweet-tempered  compliance  he 
dvpnrti;d. 

"  What  a  good  boy  he  is  !"  said  Miss  Payne  to  herself,  looking  at 
the  grate,  while  by  a  dual  brain  action  she  made  a  brief  calculation 
as  to  iiow  much  longer  she  must  burn  coal.  "  He  ought  to  have 
been  a  girl.  Why  don't  rich  young  women  see  that  he  is  the  very 
stiifr"  t)  make  a  pleasant  husband,  instead  of  those  monsters  of 
strength  and  determination  that  fools  of  women  make  gods  of,  and 
themselves  door  mats  for,  and  often  find  to  be  only  big  pumpkins 
after  all?" 

Miss  Payne's  anticipations  were  of  the  gloomiest  when,  after  their 
quickly  despatched  dinner,  she  settled  herself  between  the  fire  and 
window  with  her  favorite  tatting,  drawing  up  the  knots  with  vicious 
energy.  She  opened  proceedings  by  an  interrogative  "  Well?"  and 
closed  her  mouth  with  a  snap. 

"Well,  my  dear  Miss  Payne,"  began  Katherine,  who  had  settled 
herself  comi«rtably  in  a  comer  of  tbe  sofa,  "I  have  an  important 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  159 

plan  in  my  mind,  and  I  want  your  co-operation.  I  shonld  have 
written  to  you  about  it,  only  1  waited  to  get  Colonel  Ormonde's  con- 
sent." 

"It's  a  man  !"  ejaculated  Miss  Payne  to  herself. 

"  To  beg-in  :  I  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  the  bovs  when  I  first 
went  to  Castleford.  They  were  not  exactly  nee-lected,  but  they  were 
quite  secluded.  Mrs.  Ormonde  scarcely  saw  t^em,  and  their  g-over- 
ness  or  attendant  was  not  at  all  lady -like  ;  she  speaks  with  a  London 
accent  and  misplaces  her  h's  ;  altogether  she  is  not  the  sort  of  per- 
son /  should  have  placed  with  the  boys.  Then  the  poor  little  fellows 
chmg  to  me  and  monopolized  me  as  if  /  had  been  their  mother  ;  they 
made  me  feel  like  one.  Moreover,  I  seemed  to  see  my  own  dear 
mother  and  hear  her  voice  when  they  spoke  to  me.  She  loved  them 
so  much  !" 

Katherine  paused  suddenly,  but  almost  immediatelj'  resumed  : 
"  The  youno-est,  Charlie,  is  not  yet  seven,  and  is  very  delicate.  He 
has  had  ratner  a  sharp  attack  of  bronchitis.  I  am  very  anxious 
about  him.  How  I  want  to  take  them  to  the  seaside  next  month, 
and  to  keep  them  there  all  the  summer,  and  I  want  your  help  to 
find  a  nice  place.  I  know  nothing  of  the  Eng-lish  coast.  More  than 
this  :  I  feel  I  could  not  gx't  on  without  you,  so  you  must  come  with 
us.  Suppose,  dear  Miss  Payne,  we  take  a  house  with  a  garden  near 
the  sea,  and  you  let  this  one  ?  I  will  gladly  pay  all  extra  cost,  Avhile 
our  original'agreement,  as  far  as  I  myseK  am  concerned,  shall  hold 
good." 

Miss  Payne  listened  attentively  to  this  long  speech,  the  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance  relaxing  ;  but  she  did  not  reply  at  once. 

"I  tJiink,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "that  you  are 
exceedingly  liberal,  but  I  am  not  sure  you  are  wise.  A6"^far  as  I 
am  conct'i-ued,  I  should  like  your  plan  very  much.  I  do  not  profess 
to  be  fond  of  children,  but  I  dare  say  these  little  boys  would  not 
interfere  with  me.  As  regards  yourself,  if  you  keep  the  children 
for  the  whole  summer,  it  is  possible  Mrs.  Ormonde  might  be  inclined 
to  leave  them  with  you  altogeth  -r,  and  this  would  create  a  burden 
for  you— a  burden  you  are  by  no  means  called  upon  to  bear.  It  is  a 
dangerous  experiment." 

"Not  to  me,"  returned  Katherine,  thoughtfully.  "  In  fact  it  is  a 
consummation  for  which  I  devoutly  wish.  I  should  like  to  adopt 
my  nephews." 

"That  would  certainl^i  be  foolish.  It  would  not  be  kind  to  the 
children,  Katherine  fasTou  wish  me  to  call  you).  In  the  cour.se  of 
a  year  or  two  you  v.ill  marry,  and  then  the  creatures  who  had  learn- 
ed to  love  you  and  look  on  you  as  a  mother  would  be  again 
motherless.    Do  not  take  them  from  their  natural  guardian." 

"What  you  say  is  very  reasonable.  You  cannot  know  how 
certain  I  feel  that  I  shall  not  marry.  However,  let  us  leave  all 
that  to  arrange  itself  in  the  future ;  let  us  think  of  the  present. 
Colonel  and  ilrs.  Ormonde  are  coming  up  to  town,  for  two  or  three 
months,  in  May,  and  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  Cis  and  Charlie  being 
left  behind  :  so"^  will  you  help  me,  my  dear  Miss  Payne  ?  Shall 
you  mind  a  spring*  and  summer  in  some  quiet  sea-side  place?" 

A^ain  Miss  Payne  reflected  before  she  spoke.    "1  should  rather 


160  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

like  it:  andyoixr  idea  of  letting- this  house  is  a  good  one.  Yes,  I 
shall  be  happy  to  assist  you  as  far  as  I  can.  The  first  question  is, 
where  shall  we  go  ?" 

"That,  I  am  sure,  i/ou  know  best." 

An  interesting-  disquisition  ensued.  Miss  Payne  rejected  Bourne- 
mouth, Weym^ni'Ji,  Worthing-,  Brighton,  and  "Folkestone,  for  what 
seemed  to  Katherine  sufficient  reason,  and  finally  recommended 
Sandbourne,  a  quiet  and  little-known  nook  on  the  Dorsetshire 
coast,  as  being  mild  but  not  relaxing,  not  too  near  nor  too  far  from 
town,  and  possessing  fine  sands,  while  the  country  round  was  less 
bare  and  Hat  than  what  usually  lies  near  the  cocist." 

Finally  the  "  friends  in  council  "  decided  to  go  down  and  look  at 
the  place.  "  For,"  observed  Miss  Pa^vne,  -'if  we  are  to  go  away  the 
beginning  of  next  month,  we  have  little  more  than  a  fortnight  be- 
fore us." 

" By  all  means,"  cried  Katherine,  starting-  up.  "Let  us  go  to- 
morrow ;  we  might  'do'  the  place  in  a  day,  and  come  back  the 
next.    You  are  really  a  dear,  to  fall  into  my  views  so  readily." 

"To-morrow?  Oh  !  that's  a  little  too  fast ;  the  day  after,  if  you 
like.  Now  I  wish  you  would  look  at  these  cards :  they  have  all  been 
left  for  you  in  the  last  few  days. " 

Katherine  took  and  looked  over  them  with  some  running-  com- 
ments. "Mrs.  Tracy  !  I  shall  be  quite  glad  to  see  them  again  ;  they 
were  always  so  kind  and  pleasant.  Lady  Mary  Vincent !  I  did  not 
think  she  would  call  so  s;  on  ;  I  think  I  must"^go  and  see  her  to- 
morrow. 1  rather  like  her  niece.  Lady  Alice  Mordaunt ;  she  is  a 
nice,  gentle  girl.  She  is  to  be  married  very  soon  to  a  man  who 
interested  me  a  g-ood  deal ;  such  a  thoughtful,  clever  man,  but  rather 
provokingly  composed  and  perfect — a  sort  of  person  who  never 
makes  a  mistake."  ■ 

"He  must  be  a  remarkable  person,"  said  Miss  Payne. 

"  He  will  soon  be  in  Parliament,  and  has  some  'of  the  qualities 
which  make  a  statesman,  I  imagine.  I  shall  watch  his  progress." 
Here  Katherine  took  up  a  card,  and  while  she  read  the  inscription, 
"John  Fitzstephen  de Burgh,"  a  slight  smile  crept  round  her  lips. 
"  I  had  no  idea  he  was  in  town,  or  that  he  would  take  the  trouble 
of  calling  on  me  so  soon.    I  thought  he  was  too  utterly  offended." 

"  Why?"  asked  Miss  Payne,  looking  at  her  curiously. 

"He  is  rather  ill-tempered,  I  fancy,  and  he  wa.s  vexed  because  I 
preferred  staying  with  Charlie  to  going  out  with  him  ;  he  offered  to 
teach  me  how  to  drive  ;  so  I  believe,  like  the  rich  young-  man  in  the 
gospel,  he  went  away  in  despei'ation." 

"  Hum  !    Is  //('  a  rich  young  man  ?" 

"  He  is  not  young,  and  1  am  not  sure  about  his  being  rich.  He 
has  a  hunting-lodge  and  horses,  yet  I  don't  fancy  he  is  rich.  He  is 
a  sort  of  relation  of  the  Ormonde's." 

"I  suspect  he  is  a  spendthrift,  and  would  like  j/our  money." 

"  Oh,  very  likely  ;  but,  ray  dear  Miss  Payne,  "you  need  not  warn 
me  ;  I  am  quite  sufficiently  inclined  to  believe  that  the  men  who 
show  me  attention  are  thinking  more  of  what  I  have  than  what  I 
am.  Believe  me  it  is  not  an  ag-reeable  frame  of  mind.  Mr.  De 
Burgh  is  a  strang-e  sort  of  character.    He  amuses  me  ;  he  is  not  a 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  161 

bit  like  a  modern  man.  He  doesn't  seem  to  think  it  worth  while  to 
conceal  what  he  feels  or  thinks.  There  is  an  odd  well-bred  rough- 
ness about  him,  if  I  may  use  such  an  expression  ;  but  I  g'reatly  pre- 
fer him  to  Colonel  Ormonde." 

"  Oh,  you  do?  Colonel  Ormonde  is  just  an  average  man,"  added 
Miss  Payne. 

"  I  should  hope  the  general  average  is  higher  ;  but  I  must  not  be 
ill-natured.    He  has  always  been  very  kind  to  me." 

This  was  a  pleasant  interlude  to  Katherine.  She  had  succeedexl 
in  hushing  her  heart  to  rest  for  a  while,  in  banishing  the  thoughts 
which  had  long  tormented  her.  Nothing  had  comforted  and  satis- 
fied her  as  did  this  project  of  adopting  her  nephews.  It  is  true  she 
had  not  yet  announced  it,  but  in  her  own  mind  she  resolved  that 
once  they  were  under  her  wing,  she  would  not  let  them  go  again, 
unless  indeed  something  (juite  unforeseen  occurred  ;  nor  did  sh(;  an- 
ticipate any  difficulties  with  their  mother.  She  would  thus  secure  a 
natural  legitimate  interest  in  life,  and  make  a  home,  which  to  a  gin 
of  her  disposition  was  essential.  Yet  she  knew  well  that  in  renounc- 
ing the  idea  of  marriage  she  was  denying  one  of  the  strongest  neces- 
sities of  her  nature.  The  love  and  companionship  of  a  man  in  whom 
she  believed,  for  whom  she  could  be  ambitious,  who  would  link  her 
with  the  life  and  movement  of  the  outer  world,  who  Avould  be  the 
complement  of  her  own  being,  was  a  dream  of  delight.  Not  that 
she  felt  in  the  least  tinable  to^  stand  alone,  or  fancied  she  was  too 
delicate  to  take  care  of  herself,  but  life  without  the  love  of  another 
self  could  never  be  full  and  perfect.  She  was  too  true  a  woman  not 
to  value  deeply  the  tenderness  of  a  man  ;  yet  she  had  tirmly  resolved 
in  justice  to  herself,  in  fairness  to  any  possible  husband,  to  renounce 
that  crown  of  woman's  existence.  It  was  the  only  atonement  she 
could  make.  Well,  at  least  her  loving  care  of  these  dear  little  boys, 
who  were  in  point  of  fact  motherless,  would  in  some  decree  expiate 
her  evil  deed,  and  would  keep  her  heart  warm  and  her  mind 
healthy. 

Possessed  of  the  true  magic,  "money,"  obstacles  faded' away. 
The  expedition  to  Sandbourne  was  most  successful.  Katherine  was 
brighter  than  Miss  Payne  had  ever  seen  her  before.  The  day  was 
sunny,  the  place  looked  cheerful  and  picturesque.  It  lay  uiider  a, 
wooded  hill,  endinfr-  in  a  bold  rocky  point,  which  sheltered  it  and 
a  wide  bay  from  the  easterly  winds.  A  splendid  stretch  of  golden 
sands  offered  a  playground  for  the  racing  waves,  and  an  old  tower 
crowned  an  islet  near  the  opposite  point  of  the  land,*vvdiich  there  lay 
low,  and  was  covered  with  gorse  and  heather. 

There  was  an  objectionable  row  of  lodging-houses,  against  which 
must  be  entered  a  low,  red-brick,  ivy -grown  inn,  old-fashioned, 
picturesque,  and  comfortable.  One  or  two  villas  stood  in  their 
own  grounds  but  were  occupied,  and  one,  evidently  older  was 
shut  up. 

Perhaps  because  it  was  inaccessible,  perhaps  because  it  had  a 
pleasant  outlook  across  the  bay  to  the  island  and  tower  at  its  western 
extremity,  Katharine  at  once  determined  it  was  the  very  pl.ice  to 
suit  them,  and  made  her  v/ay  to  the  local  house  a^eat  to  see  v.Iiat 


162  ^  It  CROOKED  PATH. 

could  be  done  toward  s'^ciirin'r  it.  CliETCottag'ft'was  not  on  his  books, 
said  the  ag-ent ;  but  ii  the.  lady  wished  "he  would  apply  to  the 
owner,  who  had  gone  with  his  wife  in  search  of  health  to  the 
Riviera.  In  the  meantime  there  is  Amanda  Villa,  at  the  other  end 
of  Beach  Terrace,  verv  comfortable  and  eleg-antly  furnished" — 

gointing  to  a  glaring-  white  edifice  with  a  Behedere  tower  in  would- 
e Italian  style.  "I  don't  think  you  could  find  anything  better.'' 
But  the  aspect  of  Amanda  Villa  did  not  please  either  lady,  so  they 
returned  to  Clifl"  Cottage  :  and  remarkino-  a  thin  curl  of  blue  smoke 
from  one  of  the  chimneys,  they  ventured  to  make  their  way  to  a 
side  entrance,  where  their  knocking  was  answered  by  an  old  dcvif 
care-taker,  who,  for  a  consideration,  permitted  them  to  inspect  the 
house.  It  proved  to  be  all  Katherine  wished.  Though  the  furniture 
was  scanty  and  worn,  it  was  clean  and  well  kept,  and  "  We  can  easily 
get  what  IS  necessary,"  she  concluded,  with  the  sense  of  power  whicli 
always  goes  with  a  full  purse. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  agent  and  get  the  address  of  the 
owner." 

"Better  make  your  offer  through  him,"  returned  Miss  Payne,  and 
Katherine  complied. 

The  days  which  succeeded  seemed  very  long.  Katherine  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  the  quaint  pretty  abode,  and  was  impatient  to  be 
wttled  there  with  her  boys.  There  was  a  "  preparatory  school  for 
young  gentlemen, "  which  was  an  additional  attraction  to  Sandbourne, 
both  children  being  extremely  ignorant  even  for  their  tender  years  ; 
and  Katherine  was  greatly  opposed  to  Colonel  Ormonde's  intention 
of  sending  Cecil  away  to  a  boardina"-school.  She  wished  him  tohave 
some  preliminary  training  before  ne  was  plunged  into  the  diffi- 
culties of  a  large  boarding-school.  To  Colonel  Ormonde  her  will 
was  law,  and  if  only  she  could  get  the  house  she  wanted,  all  would  go 
well. 

Of  course  Katherine  lost  no  time  in  visitin"-  her  proferjee  Rachel. 
She  had  written  to  her  during  her  absence  to  let  her  feel  that  she  was 
not  forgotten  ;  and  the  replies  were  not  only  well  written  and  ex- 
pres.sed,  but  showed  a  degree  of  intelligence  above  the  average. 

When  Katherine  entered  the  room  whex-e  Rachel  sat  at  work 
she  was  touched  and  delighted  at  the  sudden  brightening  of  Rachel's 
sunken  eyes,  the  joyous  flush  that  rose  to  her  cheek. 

"  Oh  !''"she  exclaimed,  "I  did  not  expect  you  so  soon.  How  good 
of  you  to  come!"  She  placed  a  chair,  and  in  reply  to  Katherine's 
friendly  question,  "  How  have  you  been  going  on  ?*'  Rachel  gave  an 
encoitragmg  account  of  herself.  Mrs.  Needham  had  introduced 
her  to  two  families,  both  of  whom  wished  her  to  work  in  the 
house,  which,  though  infinitely  disagreeable  to  her,  she  did  not  like 
to  refttse. 

"  Perhaps, "  she  added,  "  the  counter-irritation  was  good  forme, 
for  I  feel  more  braced  up.  And  of  all  your  many  benefits,  dear  Miss 
Liddell,  nothing  has  done  me  so  much  good  as  "the  books  you  sent 
me,  except  the  sight  of  yourself.  Do  not  think  I  am  exaggerating, 
but  I  am  a  mere  machine,  resigned  to  work  because  1  must  not  die, 
save  when  I  see  you  and  spealc  to  you  :  then  I  feel  I  can  live— that  I 
have  something  to  live  for,  to  show  I  am  not  unworthy  of  your  trust 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  163 

in  me.  Perhaps  time  will  heal  even  such  wounds  as  mine.  Is  it  not 
terrible  to  try  and  live  without  hope?" 

"But  you"raust  hope,  Rachel.  You  are  not  alone.  I  feel  truly, 
deeply  interesh-d  in  you  ;  believe  me,  I  will  always  be  your  friend. 
You  are  looking'  better,  but  I  want  to  see  your  eyes  loss  hollow  and 
your  mouth  less  sad.  We  are  both  young-,  and  life  has  many  lig'hts 
and  shades  for  us  both,  so  far  as  we  can  anticipate." 

A  long-  and  confidential  conversation  ensued,  in  the  course  of  which 
Katherine  quite  forgot  there  was  any  difference  of  position  between 
hers(!lf  and  the  humble  dressmaker  whom  her  bounty  of  purse  and 
heart  had  restored. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

"MRS.   NEEDHAM." 

When  Katherine  returned  that  afternoon  she  found  Miss  Payne  was 
not  alone.  On  the  sofa  opposite  to  her  sat  a  lady— a  larg-e,  well- 
dr(!ssed  lady — with  bright  black  eag-er  eyes,  and  a  hig-h  color.  She 
held  open  on  her  lap  a  neat  blade  leather  bag,  from  which  she  had 
taken  some  papers,  and  was  speaking  quickly,  in  loud  dictatorial 
tones,  when  Katherine  came  in. 

"  Here  is  Miss  Liddell,"  said  Miss  Payne. 

"Ah  !  I  am  very  glad,"  cried  the  larg-e  lady,  starting-  up 
and  letting  the  bag  fall,  much  of  its  contents  scattering  right  and 
left. 

"Mrs.  Needham,  Miss  Liddell,"  said  Miss  Payne,  with  the 
sort  of  rigid  accent  which  Katherine  knew  expressed  disapproba- 
tion. 

"Oh,  thank  you— don't  trouble !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Needham,  as 
Katherine  politely  bent  down  to  collect  the  letters,  note-book,  mem- 
orandum, etc.  "So  sorrv  !  I  am  too  careless  in  small  matters. 
Now,  my  dear  Miss  Lictdell,  I  must  exphxin  mvself.  Mr.  Payne 
and  I  are  deeply  interested  in  the  success  of  a  bazar  which  I  am 
trying  to  organize,  and  he  suggested  that  I  should  see  you  and  make 
our  objects  thoroughly  clear." 

With  much  fluency" and  distinctness  she  proceeded  to  describe  the 
origin  and  progress  of  the  work  she  advocated,  showing  the  necessity 
for  a  new  wing  to  the  "Children's  Refuge,"  and  entreating  Kath- 
erine's  assistance  at  the  bazar. 

This  Katherine  gentlj^  but  firmly  declined.  "I  shall  be  most 
happy  to  send  you  a  check,  but  more  I  cannot  undertake,"  she 
saia. 

"Well,  that  is  very  good  of  you  ;  and  in  any  case  I  am  very 
pleased  to  have  made  your  acquaintance.  Mr.  Pa^me  has  told  m'e 
now  ready  you  are  to  help  in  all  charitable  undertakings.  Now  in 
an  ordinary  way  I  don't  do  much  in  this  line  ;  my  energies  have 
been  directed  to"^auoth;^r  channel.  I  am  not  what  is  generally  called 
a  religious  woman  ;  I  am  too  broad  in  my  views  to  please  the  ortho- 
dox ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  religion  is  in  our  present  stage 
essential." 


164  A  CROOKED  PATa 

"I  am  sure  relig-ion  is  mucli  oblig-ed  to  you,"  observed  Miss 
Payne.     "How  do  you  and  my  brother  s"et  on?" 

"Remarkably  well.  /  think  him  rather  a  fanatic  ;  he  thinks  me 
a  pagan.  But  we  both  have  common-sense  enoiig-h  to  see  that  each 
honestly  wishes  to  help  sutiering-  humanity,  and  on  that  broad  plat- 
form we  meet.  Mr.  Payne  tells  me  you  don't  know  much  of  London, 
Miss  Liddell.  I  can  lielp  you  to  see  some  of  its  more  interesting 
sides.  I  shall  be  most  happy,  thoug-h  I  am  a  very  busy  woman.  I 
am  a  journalist,  and  my  time  is  not  my  o^^'n." 

"Indeed?"  cried  Katherine.  "You  mean  you  write  for  news- 
papers?" 

"Yes  ;  that  is,  I  get  what  crumbs  fall  from  the  pressmen's  table. 
They  get  the  best  work  and  the  best  pay  ;  but  I  can  work  as  well 
as  most  of  them,  and  sometimes  mine  goes  in  in  place  of  what  some 
idle,  pleasure-loving  scamp  has  neglected.  Let  me  see"— pulling 
out  her  watch— "five  minutes  to  four.  I  must  not  stay.  I  have  to 
look  in  at  Mrs.  Rayncr's  studio  ;  she  has  a  reception,  and  will  want 
a  mention  of  it.  Then  there  are  Sir  Charles  Goodman's  training 
schools  for  deaf-mutes  and  the  new  Art  Photography  Company's 
rooms  to  run  through  before  I  go  to  the  House  of  Commons  to  do  my 
'  Bird's-ej'e  View'  letter  for  the  Ausl^ralian  mail  to-morrow." 

"  My  dear  Mrs  Needham,  you  take  my  !)i\;ath  away!"  exclaimed 
Katherine.  "  I  am  sure  you  could  sliow  m3  more  of  London— I 
mean  what  I  should  like  to  see— than  any  one  else." 

"Very  well.  Let  me  know  when  you  come  back  to  town," and 
you  shall  hear  a  debate  if  you  like.  I  am  not  a  society  woman,  but 
1  have  the  entree  to  most  places.  Now  good-morning— g'ood-morning. 
You  see  your  agreeable  conversation  has  made  me  forget  the  time." 
And  shaking  hands  cordially,  she  hastened  away. 

"  Our  agreeable  conversation,"  repeated  Mis.s' Payne,  with  a  some- 
what cynical  accent.  "  I  wonder  how  many  words  you  and  I 
uttered  !  Why  she  makes  me  stupid.  Really  "Gilbert  ought  not  to 
inflict  such  a  tornado  on  us." 

"  I  like  her,"  said  Katherine ;  "  there  is  something  kind  and  true 
about  her.  I  should  like  to  see  som.e  of  the  places  she  goes  to  and 
the  work  she  does.  She  seems  happv  enough,  "loo.  I  must  not  forget 
to  write  to  her  and  send  that  check  1  promised." 

"Hem !  If  you  give  right  and  left  you'll  not  have  much  left  for 
yourself,"  growled  Miss  Payne.    Katherine  laughed. 

"Oh,  by-the-way,"  resumed  her  chaperon,  "I  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  Colonel  Ormonde  arrived,  shortly  after  you  went  out,  with  a 
large  basket  of  flowers.  He  was  vexed  at  missing  you.  He  came 
lip  about  some  business,  and  wanted  to  take  you  to  see  some  one. 
However,  he  could  not  come  back.  I  can't  say  that  I  think  he  is 
Avell  mannered.  He  was  quite  rough  and  brusque,  and  asked  with 
jncli  an  ill-bred  sneer  if  you  were  off  on  any  private  business  with 
^y  brother." 

"I  can't  help  thinking  that  he  was  annoyed  becatLse  I  appointed 
fiffr.  Payne  co-trustee  with  Mr.  Newton  to  my  deed  of  gift,"  said 
Katherine,  thoughtfully.     "But  I  know  I  could  not  have  chosen  a, 
Wtei  man." 
'    "Well,  I  believe  so,"  returned  his  sister,  graciously,     "He  is 

ling  to  dinner,  so  you  can  give  him  your  check." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  165 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Cis  and  Charlie  when  they  arrived  in 
London  to  stay  with  "auntie,"  who  was  at  the  station  to  rectsveaod 
convey  them  to  Wilton  Street. 

Charlie  still  looked  pale  and  thin  enough  to  warrant  a  general 
treatment  of  cuddling-  and  coddling"  calculated  to  satisfy  any  affec- 
tionate young  woman's  heart.  They  were  to  sleep  at  Miss  Payne's 
residence,  in  order  to  be  rested  and  fresh  for  their  journey  to  th«  sea- 
side next  day. 

Miss  Payne  herself  was  unusually  amiable,  for  she  had  let  h'u* 
house  satisfactorily  for  the  greater  part  of  the  season,  and  this  aa 
Katherine  paid  for  the  Sandbourne  villa,  was  clear  gain. 

AVhen  the  boys  and  their  auntie  drove  up  to  Miss  Payne's  abode 
she  was  a  gooddeal  annoyed  to  And  De  Burgh  at  the  door  in  the  act 
of  leaving  a  card.  He  hastened  to  hand  her  out  of  the  carriage,  ex- 
claiming : 

"This  is  the  first  bit  of  luck  I  have  had  for  weeks.  Yon  always 
manage  to  be  out  when  I  call.  Come  along,  my  boys.  "What  lucky 
little  fellows  you  are  to  come  to  town  for  the  season  !" 

"Ah,  but  we  are  not  going  to  stay  in  town.  We  are  going  to  the 
sea-side  to  bathe,  and  to  sail  in  boats,  and — " 

"Run  in,  Charlie,  like  a  good  boy,"  interrupted  Katherine. 
"  Your  tea  will  be  quite  ready." 

"  I  suppose  you  will,  think  me  horribly  intrusive  if  I  ask  you  to 
let  me  come  in  ?"  said  De  Burgh.  There  was  something  ui.usually 
earnest  in  his  tone. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  returned  Katherine,  politely,  though  she  would 
have  much  preferred  bidding  him  good -morning.  "  Here,  Sarah, 
pray  take  the  boys  to  Iheir  room  and  get  their  things  off.  I  am  sure 
they  want  their  tea." 

Miss  Payne's  sedate  elderly  house-maid  looked  (juite  elated  as  she 
took  Charlie's  hand  and,  preceded  by  Cecil,  led  him  upstairs. 

"  Are  you  really  '  out '  when  I  come  ?"  asked  De  Burgh  when  they 
reached  the  drawing-room. 

Katherine  took  off  her  hat  and  pushed  her  hair  off  her  brow  as  she 
seated  herself  in  a  low  chair. 

"Yes,  1  think  so.  I  do  not  usually  deny  myself  to  any  visitor." 
She  looked  up,  half  amused,  half  interested,  by  the  almost  imploring 
expression  of  his  usually  hard  face. 

"I  rath-^r  suspect  I  am  not  a  favored  guest  ?" 

"Why  do  you  sa}'  that,  Mr.  De  Burgh?  am  I  uncivil?" 
.     "No."^  Wliat  a  fool  I  am  making  or  mj^self  !    Tell  me,  are  you 
really  going  away  to-morrow  to  bury  yourself  alive?" 

"I  am  reaUv." 

"After  all,  I  believe  you  are  right.  I  am  alwaj-g  bored  in  Lea-l 
don.    Women  think  it  a  paradise." 

"  I  like  London  so  well  that  I  shall  probably  make  it  my  head-j 
quarters." 

"  It's  rather  premature  for  you  to  make  plans,  isn't  it  !• 

"Whether  it  is  or  not,  I  have  arranged  my  future  mMJi  I9  m^I 
own  satisfaction."  ■* 

" The  deuce  you  have !    What,  at  nineteen?" 

"  Is  that  an  attempt  to  find  out  my  age?"  asked  KatheriB«,  %^ff^ 
in^i  ' 


166  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  No  ;  for  I  fancy  I  know  it.  How  far  is  this  place  you  are  g-oin^ 
to  from  town,  and  how  do  you  g'et  to  it  ?" 

"The  journey  takes  about  three  hours  and  a  half,  and  you  travel 
by  the  Southwestern  line." 

"  Well,  I  intend  to  have  the  pleasure  of  running-  down  to  see  you 
presently,  if  you  will  permit  me." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  we  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  you." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  De  Burg-h,  with  a  smile.  "I  don't  think  you 
are  very  encouraging.  If  there  are  any  decent  roads  about  this 
place,  shall  we  resume  the  driving-  lessons?" 

"Thank  you"— evasively.  "I  think  of  buying  a  donkey  and 
chaise — certainly  a  pony  for  the  boys." 

De  Burgh  laughed.  "  I  suppose  thsre  is  some  boating  to  be  had 
there.  I  shall  certainly  have  a  look  at  the  place,  even  if  I  be  not 
admitted  to  the  shrine."  There  was  a  pause,  durin^-  which  De 
Burgh  seemed  in  profound  but  not  agreeable  thought ;  tlien  he  sud- 
denly exclaimed:  "By-the-way,  have  you  heard  the  news?  Old 
Errington  died,  rather  sudden  at  last,  some  time  last  night." 

' '  Indeed !"  cried  Katherine,  roused  to  immediate  attention.  "  I  am 
very  sorry  to  hear  it.  The  marriage  will  then  be  put  off.  You 
know  they  were  going  to  have  it  nearly  a  month  sooner  than  was  at 
first  intended,  because  Mr.  Errington  feared  the  end  was  near.  He 
was  with  his  father,  I  hope?" 

'■  Yes,  1  believe  he  hardly  left  him  for  the  last  few  days.  Now 
the  wedding  cannot  take  place  for  a  considerable  time." 

"It  will  be  a  great  disappointment,"  observed  Katherine. 

"To  which  of  the  happy  pair?" 

"To  both,  I  suppose,"  she  returned. 

"  Do  you  think  they  cared  a  rap  about  each  other?" 

"  Yes",  1  do  indeed.  Every  one  has  a  diflerent  way  of  showing 
their  feelings,  and  Mr.  Errington  is  niiifc  different  from  i/ou." 

"  Different— and  immensely  superior,  eh?" 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  Mr.  De  IJurgh." 

"No,  certainly  you  did  not,  and  I  have  no  right  to  guess  at  what 
you  think.  You  are  right.  lam  very  different  from  Errington  ; 
and  i,'ou  are  very  different  from  Lady  Alice.  I  fancy,  were  vou  in 
her  place,  even  the  irreproachable  bridegroom-elect  would  find  he 
liad  a  little  more  of  our  common  humanity  about  him  than  he  sus- 
pects," said  De  Burgh,  his  dark  eyes  seeking  hers  with  a  bold  ad- 
miring glance. 

Katnerine's  cheek  glowed,  her  heart  beat  fast  with  sudden  distress 
and  anger.  De  Burgh's  suggestion  stirred  some  strange  and  pain- 
ful emotion. 

"You  are  in  a  remarkably  imaginative  mood,  Mr.  Da  Burgh," 
she  said,  haug'htily.  "I  cannot  see  any  connection  between  myself 
and  your  ideas." 

"  Gan't  yoti?    Well,  my  ideas  gather  round  you  verv  often." 

"Iwish'^he  would  g-o  away  ;  he  is  too  audacious,"  thoxight  Kath- 
erine. While  she  said,  "  I  think  Mr.  Errington  will  be  sorry  for 
his  father  ;  I  believe  he  has  good  feeling,  though  he  is  so  cold  and 
quiet.' 

"  Oh,  he  haa  every  virtue  under  the  siui !    At  any  rate  he  ought 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  167 

to  be  fond  of  him,  for  I  fancy  the  old  man  has  toiled  all  his  life  to  be 
able  to  leave  his  son  a  big*  fortune." 

"  Has  ho  no  brothers  or  sisters?" 

"  Two  sisters,  I  believe,  older  than  himself  ;  both  married." 

Th3re  was  another  pause.  Katharine  would  not  break  it.  She 
felt  peculiarly  irritated  against  De  Burg-h.  His  observations  ha4 
g-reatly  disturbed  her.  She  could  not,  however,  tell  him  to  <p,  ami  he 
siood  there  looking  perfectly  at  ease.  This  awkward  silence  was 
broken  by  the  welcome  appearance  of  Cecil,  who  burst  into  the  room, 
exclaiming-:  "Auntie,  tea  is  quite  ready  I  There  is  beautiful 
chicken  pie  and  buttered  cakes,  and  such  a  beautiful  cat ! 

"  What !  for  tea,  Cis?"  said  Katharine, letting-  him  catch  her  haod 
and  try  to  drag-  her  away. 

"  No— o.  Why,  what  a  silly  you  are !  Puss  is  asleep  in  an  arm- 
chair. Do  come,  auntie.  The  laJy  said  I  was  tell  you  that  tea  was 
ouiie  ready." 

"  Which  means  that  the  audience  is  over,"  said  De  Burgh  ;  "  and 
I  rath-'-r  think  you  are  not  sorry."  He  smiled— not  a  lileasant  smile. 
"  Well,  young- "man,  did  you  never  see  me  before  ?"— to  Cecil,  who 
was  staring-  at  him  in  the  delibarate,  persistent  way  in  which  child- 
ren gaze  at  objects  which  fasciiiate  yet  partly  frig-hten  tiiem. 

"1  was  thinking-  you  were  like—''    The  little  fellow  paused, 

"  Like  whom  ?" 

Cis  tig-htened  his  hold  on  his  auntie's  hand,  and  still  hesitated. 

'•  Whom  is  ]\Ir.  De  Burg-ii  like.-'"  asked  Katherine,  amused  by  the 
bov's  earnestness. 

'"'Like  the  wicked  uncle  in  the  'Babes  in  the  Wood.'  Auntie 
g-ave  it  to  me.    Such  a  beautiful  picture  book  !" 

Dj  Burg-h  laughed  heartily  and  good-humoi-edly.  "lean  tell 
you,  my  boy,  you  would  not  "tind  me  a  bad  sort  of  "uncle  if  it  were 
ever  my  good  "fortune  to  call  you  nephew." 

"  But  I  have  no  uncle— only  auntie,  "  returned  Cis. 

"  Ay,  a  very  pearl  of  an  auntie.  Try  and  be  a  g-ood  boy.  Above 
all,  do  what  you  are  bid.  I  never  did  what  I  was  bid,  and  you  see 
what  I  have  come  to." 

"I  don't  think  there  is  much  thom.atter  with  you,"  said  Cis,  eyino^ 
him  steadily.  Then,  with  a  su  Iden  change  in  the  current  of  his 
thoughts,  he  cried,  "  Do  come,  auntio ;  thi  cakes  will  be  quite  cold.-' 

"  i  will  keep  vou  no  longer  from  the  banquet,"  said  De  Burg-h. 
"  I  know  you  are  wishing-  me  at— well,  my  probable  destination  ;  so 
good  bv  for  the  present."  Then,  to  Cecil :  "Shall  I  come  and  see 
you  at— what  is  the  name  of  the  place  ?—Sandbourne,  and  take  you 
out  for  a  sail  in  a  boat— a  big  boat?" 

"  Oh.  ves,  please." 

"  AVii!  y  m  come  with  me,  though  I  am  like  the  wicked  uncle  ?" 

"  Yv*s,  if  auntie  may  come  too." 

"  It  .sli ',  beg-s  very  hard  she  may.  Well,  g-ood-morning-.  Miss  Lid- 
dell,  I'll  not  forget  Sandbourne,  via  Southwestern  Railway."  So 
saving-,  Do.  Burgh  shook  hands  and  departed. 

^he  next  day  Miss  Payne  escorted  her  suddenly  increased  party 
to  their  marine  retreat,  returning  the  following  afternoon  to  attend 
to  the  details  of  letting  her  house,  for  which  she  had  had  a  good 
o3"er. 


168  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Then  came  a  breathing  space  of  welcome  repose  to  Kathcrive. 
The  interest— nay,  the  trouble— of  the  children  drew  her  ouc  of  \ui- 
8clf,  and  dwarfed  the  past  with  the  more  urgent  demands  of  the  jn-c- 
sent.  Cliff  Cottage  was  a  pretty,  pleasant  abode.  The  living  rooms, 
which  Avere  of  a  good  size,  two  "of  them  opening  with  bay-windows 
on  the  pleasure-ground  which  surrounded  the  house  on  three  sides, 
were,  with  the  bedrooms  over  them,  additions  to  a  very  small  abode. 

These  Katherine  succeeded  in  making  pretty  and  comfortable. 
To  A\ake  in  the  morning  and  hear  the  pleasant  murmur  of  th(!  waves  ; 
to  open  her  window  to  the  soft  sweet  briny  air,  and  look  out  on  tho 
waters  glittering  in  the  early  golden  light ;  to  listen  to  the  laugliter 
and  shrill  cries  of  Cis  and  Charlie  chasing  each  other  in  the  garden, 
and  feel  that  they  were  her  charge  —all  this  contributed  to  restore 
fier  to  a  healthy  state  of  mind,  to  strengthen  and  to  cheer  her. 

Cecil,  to  his  dismay  at  first,  was  dispatched  every  morning  to 
school,  where  he  soon  made  friends  and  began  to  feel  at  home. 
Clvirlie  Katherine  taught  herself,  as  he  was  still  delicate.  Then  a 
a  pony  was  added  to  the  establishment,  and  old  Francois,  ex -courier 
and  factotum,  used  to  take  the  young  gentlemen  for  lojig  excursions 
each  riding  turn  about  on  the  quiet,  sensible  little  Shetland. 

The  pale  cheeks  which  helped  to  make  Charlie  so  dear  to  his  aunt 
began  to  show  something  of  a  healthy  color  before  the  end  of  May, 
and  Katherine  sometimes  laughed  to  tind  herself  boasting  of  Cecil's 

t)arts  and  progress  to  Miss  Payne.  But  the  metamorphosis  wrought 
)y  the  young  magicians  in  this  important  personage  a\  as  tiie  most 
remarkable  of  the  eflects  they  produced.  Had  MissLiddell  been  less 
pleasant  and  profitable,  it  is  doubtful  if  Miss  Payne  would  have  con- 
sented to  allow  children  -bo3'S— to  desecrate  the  precincts  of  her  spot- 
less dwelling  ;  they  were  in  her  estimation  extremt^ly  objectionable. 
Katherine  was,  hoAvcver,  a  prime  favorite  ;  she  had  touched  Miss 
Pavne  as  none  of  her  former  inmates  ever  did. 

"S'ears  of  battling  Avith  the  world  had  coated  her  heart  with  a 
tolerably  hard  husk  ;  but  there  was  a  heart  beneath  the  stosiy  sheath, 
and  by  sonic  occult  sympatliA- Katherine  had  pierced  to  the  hidden 
fount  of  feeling,  and  her  chaperon  found  there  was  more  flavor  and 
warmth  in  life  than  she  once  thought. 

When,  therefore,  she  had  completed  her  business  in  London  and 
■was  settled  at  Cliff  Cottage,  .^^he  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  boys 
did  not  worry  her  ;  nay,  when  they  came  racing  to  meet  her  in 
wild  delight  to  show  a  tangled  drijiping  mass  of  shells  and  seaweed 
which  they  had  collected  in  their  wading,  scrambling  wanderings 
on  the  shore  and  among  the  rocks,  she  found  herself  unbendiiig, 
almost  involuntarily,  and  examining  their  treasures  with  unfeignm 
interest.  Then  Cecil's  very  fluent  descrip'.ions  of  his  experiences  at 
school,  his  escapades,  his  torn  garments,  the  occasional  quarrels  be- 
tween the  tAvo  boys,  their  appropriation  of  Francois,  and  their 
breakages— all  seemed  to  g-roAv  natural  and  pardonable  when  the 
young  culprits  ran  to  take  her  by  the  hand,  and  looked  in  her  face 
with  their  innocent,  trusting  eyes.  On  the  Avhole,  Miss  Payne  had 
never  been  so  happy  before,  and  Katherine  forgot  the  shifting 
sands  or  Avhich  she  was  uprearing  the  graceful  fabric  of  her  tran- 
quil life. 

Somottmes  they  lured  Bertie  to  spend  a  couple  of  days  with  them 


A  CROOKED  PAXa  169 

— days  which  were  always  marked  with  a  white  stone.  What  arg-u- 
ments  and  rambles  Kath'erlne  enjoyed  with  him,  and  what  goodly 
checks  she  drew  to  further  his  numerous  undertakings  ! 

De  Buro-h  did  not  fail  to  carry  out  his  threat  of  inspecting  Sand- 
bourne.  He  f'KUvl  i  valid  excus3  in  a  commission  from  Colonel 
Ormonde  to  a.  I  vis  J  .[iss  Liddell  respecting  a  pair  of  ponies  she  had 
asked  him  to  buy  for  h  ;r. 

His  visit  Avas*  not  altogether  displeasing.  No  woman  in  quite 
indifferent  to  a  man  who  admires  her  in  th3  hearty,  wholesale  way 
which  De  Burgh  did  not  try  to  conceal.  Katharine  was  much  too 
feminine  not  to  like  the  incense  of  his  devotion,  especially  when  he 
kept  it  within  certain  limits.  She  did  not  credit  him  with  any  deep 
feeling  ;  but  in  spite  of  her  strong  conviction  that  he  was  attracted 
by  her  money,  she  recognized  a  certain  sincerity  in  his  liking  for 
herself.  She  enjoyed  the  idea  of  humbling  his  immense  assurance, 
believing  that  any  pain  she  might  inflict  would  be  short-lived,  while 
he  was  amazed  to  find  how  swiftly  th:;  hours  flew  past  when  he  al- 
lowed himself  to  spend  a  couple  of  days  at  Sand  bourne— surprised 
to  feel  so  little  of  tiro  contemptuous  bitterness  with  which  he  gener- 
ally regarded  his  fellow-creatures,  and  sometimes  wondered  if  it 
were  possible  that  something  more  simple  than  even  his  boyish  self 
had  come  back  to  him. 

Still,  Bertie  Payne  was  a  more  welcome  guest  than  De  Burgh,  in 
spite  of  his  unspoken  but  evident  devotion.  With  Bertie  she  could 
speak  openly  of  matters  on  which  she  would  not  touch  when  with 
the  other.  To  Bertie  she  could  talk  of  the  mysteries  of  life,  and 
argue  on  questions  of  belief.  She  was  toucbod  W  the  eagerness  he 
showed  to  convert  her  to  his  own  extremaly  evangelical  views,  and 
though  differing  from  him  on  many  points,  she  deeply  respected  the 
sincerity  of  his  convictions. 

The  degree  of  favor  shown  by  her  to  "that  ps^alm -singing  Puri- 
tan," as  De  Burgh  termed  him,  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  the  latter, 
and  indeed  so  irritated  his  spirit  that  he  was  driven  to  speak  of  the 
annoyance  it  caused  him  to  Mrs.  Ormonde,  of  whose  discretion  and 
judgment  he  had  but  a  poor  opinion. 

Meantime  no  one  heard  or  saw  anything  of  Errington,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  deep  in  the  settlement  of  his  father's  affairs,  and 
winding  up  the  estate,  as  the  well-known  house  of  Errington  ceased 
to  exist  when  the  head  and  founder  was  no  more.  Lady  Alice  had 
gone  to  stay  with  her  brother  and  sister-in-law,  who  lived  abroad, 
as  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  enter  into  the  gayeties  of  the  season 
under  existing  circumstances,  and  the  marriage  was  postponed  un- 
til the  end  of  July. 

In  short,  a  lull  had  stilled  the  actors  in  this  little  drama.  The 
stream  of  events  had  entered  one  of  the  quiet  pools  which  here  and 
there  hold  the  most  rapid  current  tranquil  for  a  time. 

With  Mrs.  Ormonde  all  went  well.  She  had  the  newest  and  mo.st 
charming  gowns  and  bonnets,  mantles  and  hats.  She  found  herself 
very  well  received  by  society,  and  quite  a  favorite  with  Lady  Mary 
Vincent,  Avho  was  a  very  popular  pJerson.  So  much  occupied  was 
the  pretty  little  woman  that  May  was  nearly  over  before  she  could 
find  time  to  accept  her  sister-in-law's  repeated  iuvitatioa  to  Cliif 
Cottage. 


170  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"I  am  going  down  to  Sandbourne  on  Friday,"  she  said  to  De 
Burgh  one  evening  as  she  was  waiting  for  her  carriage  after  a 
musical  party  at  Lady  Mary  Vincent's. 

"  Indeed !    I  thougnt  you  were  g'oing  last  Monday." 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  go  on  Monday.  But  if  I  don't  go  on  Friday  I 
do  not  think  I  shall  manage  my  visit  at  all.  Tell  me,  what  does 
Katherine  find  to  keep  her  down  there  ?    Is  it  Bertie  Payne  ?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  She  seems  contented  enoug-h.  For  that  matter, 
she  might  find  my  society  equally  attractive.  Payne  does  not  go 
down  as  often  as  1  do." 

"  No  ?— but  then  Katherine  has  a  leaning  to  sanctity,  and  you  are 
no  saint." 

"  True.  By-the-way,  talking  of  saints,  there  is  a  report  that  old 
Errington's  affairs  were  not  left  in  as  flourishing  a  condition  as  was 
expected." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !    It  is  some  mere  ill-natured  gossip." 

"I  hope  so,  I  think  I  will  come  down  on  Saturday  and  escort  you 
back  to  town." 

"Pray  do;  it  will  enliven  us  a  little."  A  shout  of  "Mrs.  Or- 
monde's carriage !"  cut  short  the  conversation,  and  Mrs.  Ormonde 
did  not  see  De  Burgh  again  until  they  met  at  Cliff  Cottage. 

Mrs.  Ormonde's  visit,  long  anticipated,  did  not  prove  an  unmixed 

Pleasure.  She  objected  to  what  she  considered  the  terribly  long 
rive  of  some  five  mile^s  from  the  railway  starion  to  Katherine's 
sechided  residence  ;  she  turned  up  her  pretty  little  nose  at  the  small- 
ness  of  the  cottage  and  its  general  homeliness  ;  she  evinced  an  un- 
friendly spirit  toward  Miss  Payne,  who  was  perfectly  unmoved 
thereby  ;  and  when  the  boys,  well  washed  and  spruced  up,  ap- 
proached her,  not  too  eagerly,  she  scarcely  noticed  them.  This,  of 
course,  reacted  on  the  little  fellows,  who  showed  a  decided  inclina- 
tion to  avoid  her. 

She  Avas  tired  after  a  warm  journey  and  previous  late  hours,  and 
dreadfully  afraid  that  sea  air  and  sun  together  would  have  a  ruinous 
effect  on  her  complexion.  "When,  however,  she  had  had  tea  and 
made  a  fresh  toilette,  she  took  a  less  gloomy  view  of  life  at  Sand- 
bounie,  and  having  recovered  her  temper,  she  remembered  it  would 
be  wiser  not  to  chafe  her  sister-in-law. 

"To  be  sui*e,"  thought  the  astute  little  woman,  "  the  boys'  settle- 
ment is  out  of  her  power  to  revoke  ;  but  it  would  be  rather  good  if 
she  came  to  live  with  us,  instead  of  filling  the  pockets  of  this  prim, 
presumptuous,  self-satistied  old  maid.  I  am  sure  she  is  awfully  sel- 
fish, and  I  do  hate  selfishness." 

So  reflecting,  she  descended  serene  and  smiling.  Half  an  hour 
after,  she  had  so  completely  recovered  herself  as  to  declare  she  had 
never  seen  the  boys  look  so  well,  that  they  were  quite  grown,  etc., 
etc. 

After  dinner  Cecil  displayed  his  exercise  and  copy  books,  and  re- 
ceived a  due  meed  of  praise,  not  unmixed  with  a  little  sarcastic  re- 
mark or  two  respecting  the  wonderful  effect  of  his  aunt's  influence, 
which  did  noc  escaj^e  the  notice  of  her  son,  who  felt,  though  he  did 
not  understand  why,  that  she  was  not  quite  so  well  pleased  as  sha 
ttt'ected  to  be. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  I7l 

"  And  don't  you  feel  dreadfully  dull  here?"  asked  Mrs.  Ormonde, 
as  the  sisters-in-law  strolled  along"  the  beach  under  the  shelter  of  the 
east  cliff,  which  hid  them  from  t^e  bright  morning  sunlight. 

"  No,  not  as  yet.  I  should  not  like  to  live  here  always  ;  but  at 
present  I  like  the  place.    You  must  confess  it  is  very  pretty." 

"  Yes,  just  now,  when  the  weather  is  fine.  When  you  nave  rain 
and  a  gale,  it  must  be  fearfully  dreary." 

"  We  have  had  some  rough  days,  but  the  bay  has  a  beauty  of  its 
own  even  in  a  storm,  and  we  shall  not  be  here  in  the  winter." 

" De  Burgh  runs  down  to  see  you  pretty  often?"  asked  Mrs.  Or- 
monde, after  a  short  pause.  The  old  reg'imental  habit  of  callings 
men  by  their  surnames  still  returned  when  she  was  off  guard. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Katherine,  calmly  ;  "he  seems  to  enjoy  a  day  by 
the  sea-side." 

Mrs.  Ormonde  laughed— a  hard  laugh.  "I  dare  say  you  enjoy  it 
too." 

"Mr.  De Burgh  is  not  particularly  sympathetic  to  me,  but  I  like 
him  better  than  I  did." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  he  makes  himself  very  pleasant  to  you,  and  I 
never  knew  him  show  attention  to  an  unmarried  woman  before,  nor 
to  many  married  women  eitlier.  Of  course  it  would  be  absurd  to 
suppose  that  if  you  had  not  a  g-ood  fortune  you  would  see  quite  so 
much  of  him." 

"Naturally," returned  Katherine.  "I  fancy  my  money  would 
be  of  g-reat  use  to  him  ;  so  it  would  to  most  men.  That  does  not 
affect  me.  If  it  is  an  incentive  to  make  them  agreeable  and  useful, 
why,  so  be  it." 

"Idid  not  expect  to  hear  you  talk  like  that.  Now  I  hate  and 
despise  mercenary  men," 

"  Well,  you  see,  the  man  or  the  woman  must  have  money  or  there 
can  be  no  marriag'e." 

"  How  worldly  you  have  g-rown,  Kate  !"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  in  a 
superior  tone.  She  did  not  perceive  anything  but  sober  seriousness 
in  h:n-  sister-in-law's  tone,  and  was  infinitely  annoyed  at  her  taking 
the  iiisinuations  against  De  Burgh's  disinterestedness  with  such  in- 
difference. "I  suppose  you  think  it  would  be  a  very  fine  thing  to 
be  Baroness  De  Burgh,  and  go  to  court  with  all  the  family  jewel* 
on." 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  go  as  Katherine  Liddell." 

"  Prav,  why  not  ?  Ah,  yes  ;  it  would  all  be  very  fine  !  But  I  am 
too  deeply  interested  in  you,  dear,  not  to  warn  you  that  De  Burgh 
would  make  a  very  bad'  husband  ;  he  has  such  a  horrid,  sneering 
way  sometimes  ;  and  as  to  being  faithful— constancy  is  a  thing  im- 
known  to  him." 

"What would  Colonel  Ormonde  say  if  he  knew  you  gave  his 
favorite  kinsman  so  bad  a  character?" 

"Oh,  my  dear  Katherine,  you  must  not  betray  me  !  Duke  would 
1)6  furious'.    But  of  course  your  happiness  is  my  first  consideration." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Katherine,  gravely. 

"And  xMr.  Payne,  how  does  he  like  Mr.  De  Burgh's  visits  here  ?• 

"I  don't  tliink  he  minds"— seriously.  "I  should  be  sorry  if  ho 
were  annoyed.    I  am  very  fond  of  Bertie  Payne." 


172  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

This  declaration  somewhat  bewildered  Mrs.  Ormonde.  But  before 
she  could  find  suitable  words  to  reply,  Charlie  came  running  to 
meet  them,  jumpinj'  up  to  kiss  his  aunt  first,  and  cried  ;  "  Mr.  Da 
Burgh  has  come.  I  saw  him  drivin<jf  up  to  the  hotel  outside  the 
omlibus." 

"  The  omnibus  !"  repeated  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"  He  would  tind  no  other  conveyance  from  the  train  unless  he 
ordered  one  previously,"  said  Katherine,  laug-hing-. 

"Dear  me!  I  suppose  he  will  be  here  directlv.  How  early  he 
must  have  started !"  in  a  tone  of  annoyance.  "  I  feel  so  hot  and  un- 
comfortable after  this  dreadfully  long-  walk,  I  must  cbaug-e  my  dress 
before  I  see  any  one."    And  she  hastenexi  on. 

After  holding-  his  aunt's  hand  for  a  while,  Charlie  darted  away  to 
overtake  Francois,  whom  he  perceived  at  a  little  distmce. 

'•I  declare,  Katherine,  you  are  quite  supplanting-  me  with  those 
boys!"  exclaimed  their  mother,  querulously. 

"Ada,  I  would  not  for  the  world  wean  them  from  you,  if — I  mean" 
— stopping-  the  woi'ds  which  rushed  to  her  lips.  "  1  should  be  sorry. 
But  you  have  new  ties— another  boy.  Could  you  not  spare  Cis  and 
Charlie  to  me— for  I  have  no  one?" 

"  I  am  sure  that  is  your  own  fault.  However,  if  after  three  or 
four  months'  experience  you  are  not  tired  of  them,  I  shall  be  very 
much  surprised." 

On  reaching-  the  house,  Mrs.  Ormonde  went  straight  to  her  own 
apartment  to  "  reht,"  and  Katherine  sat  down  in  the  smaller  draw- 
ing- or  morning-  room,  which  lookec?  west  and  was  cool.  She  had  not 
been  there  many  minutes  before  De  Burgh  was  announced. 

"Alone!"  he  exclaimed.     "  Where  is  Mrs.  Ormonde?" 

"She  will  be  here  immediately.' 

"  Has  she  persuaded  you  to  return  with  her  ?    I  wish  you  would. 

Lady  G g-ives  a  dinner  at  Richmond  on  Thursday  ;  it  will  be 

rather  amusing'.    I  know  most  of  the  fellows  who  are  g-oing-,  and  I 
think  you  would  enjoy  it.    You  like  good  talkers,  I  know." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  have  refused." 

"Absolutely?" 

"Absolutely." 

De  Burgh  came  over  and  leaned  his  shoulder  against  the  side  of 
the  window  opposite  to  where  Katherine  sat. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  if  I  may  ask.  Miss  Liddell?"  he 
said.  "  You  have  scarcely  heard  what  I  said.  They  are  not  pleas- 
ant thoughts,  I  fancy." 

"  No,"  she  returned,  glad  to  put  them  into  words  that  she  might 
exorcise  them.  "  Ada  has  just  reproached  me  with  supplanting 
her  with  her  boys,  and  it  made  me  feel,  as  Americans  sav 
'bad.'" 

"Why?"  he  asked.  "  Why  should  you  not?  I  would  lay  long 
odds  that  you  love  th'^m  mori;  than  she  does.  You  are  more  a  i-eal 
mother  to  them:  Why  aro  you  always  straining  at  g-nats?  You 
really  lose  a  lot  o.' timj,  which  might  be  more  agreeably  occupied, 
worrying  over  the  ri"-hts  and  wrongs  of  things.  Follow  my  ex- 
ample :  go  straight  aliead  for  whatever  you  desire,  provided  it's  not 
robbery,  and  let  things  balance  themseivca.': 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  173 

*'Has  that  system  made  you  supremely  happy?" 

"Happy!  Oh,  that  is  a  big  word.  I  have  had  some  splendid 
spurts  of  enjoyment ;  and  now  I  have  an  object  to  win.  It  will  give 
me  a  lot  of  trouble  ;  it's  the  heaviest  stake  I  ever  played  for  ;  but  it 
will  g-o  hard  with  me  if  I  don't  succeed." 

De  Burgh  had  been  looking  out  at  the  stretch  of  water  before  him 
as  he  spoke,  but  at  his  last  words  his  eves  sought  Katherine's  with  a 
look  she  could  not  misunderstand.  She  shivered  slightly,  an  odd 
passing  sense  of  fear  chilling  her  for  a  moment  as  she  turned  to  lay 
her  hat  upon  the  table  near,  saying,  in  a  cold,  collected  tone. 

"You  must  always  remember  that  the  firmest  resolution  cannot 
insure  success." 

"  It  goes  a  long  way  toward  it,  however,"  he  replied. 

"Ah,  there  is  Cis  !"  cried  Katherine,  glad  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion, "  come  back  from  school.  Are  you  not  earlier  than  usual, 
Cis?"— as  the  boy  came  bounding  over  the  grass  to  the  open 
window. 

"No,  auntie  ;  it  is  one  o'clock." 

"  Well,  young  man,"  said  Do  Burgh,  who  was  not  sorry  to  be  in- 
terrupted, as  he  felt  he  was  tr  .'vliiig  dangerous  ground,  and  with 
insirinctive  tact  endeavored  always  to  keep  friends  with  Katherine's 
pets,  "I  have  brought  you  a  present,  if  auntie  will  allow  you  to 
keep  it." 

"  What  is  it?— a  box  of  tools,  real  tools?  I  do  so  Avant  a  box  of 
tools  !    But  auntie  is  afraid  I  will  cut  myself." 

"  No  ;  it's  a  St.  Bernard  puppy  that  promises  to  turn  out  a  fine 
dog." 

"Oh,  thank  you  !  thank  you  !  that  is  nice.  I  don't  think  you  are 
a  bit  like  the  wicked  uncle  now.  May  I  go  and  fetch  it  now,  this 
moment  ?" 

"Not  till  after  dinner,  dear." 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  jolly !  A  real  St.  Bernard  dog  .'"—capering  about. 
"  You  arc  a  nice  man  !'' 

"  What  are  you  making  such  a  noise  for,  Cis  ?"  exclaimed  his 
mother  coming" in,  lookin"-  admirably  well,  fresh,  becomingly  dress- 
ed. "  Go  away,  dear,  and  be  made  tidy  for  your  dinner.  Well, 
Mr.  De  Burgh,'  I  never  dreamed  of  your  arriving  so  early.  Did  you 
get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night?" 

"  Not  exactly.  The  fact  is,  I  must  drive  over  to  Revelstoke  late 
this  evening  and  catch  the  mail  train.  I  have  a  command  to  dine 
with  the  Baron  to-morrow,  to  talk  over  some  business  of  importance, 
and  dared  not  refuse,  as  you  can  imagine.  The  everlasting  old 
tyrant  has  been  quite  amiable  to  me  of  late." 

"  Then  you'll  not  be  here  to  escort  me  back  to  town,  and  I  hate 
travelling' alone  !"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"Unfortunately  no,"  said  De  Burgh.  "But  I  have  a  piece  of 
news  for  you  that  will  freeze  the  marrow  in  your  bones :  Errington 
is  completely  ruined." 

"Impossible  !"  cried  both  his  hearers  at  once. 

"It's  too  true,  I  assure  you.  When,  after  the  old  man's  death,  he 
began  to  look  into  things  with  his  solicitor,  he  was  startled  to  find 
certain  deficiencies.    Then  the  head  clerk,  the  manager,  who  had 


174  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

everj'thing-  in  his  hands— bossed  the  show,  in  short— disappeared,  and 
on  further  examination  it  proved  that  the  whole  concern  was  a  mere 
shell,  out  of  which  this  scoundrel  had  sucked  the  capital.  There 
was  an  awful  amount  of  debt  to  other  houses,  several  of  which 
would  have  come  down,  and  ruined  the  unfortunates  connected 
with  them,  if  Errington  had  not  come  forward  and  sacrificed  almost 
all  he  possessed  to  retrieve  the  credit  of  his  name.  He  says  he 
ought  to  have  undertaken  the  risks  as  well  as  reaped  the  profit  of 
the  concern.  Garston  Hall  is  advertised  for  sale  ;  so  is  the  hou.se  in 
Berkley  Square  ;  his  stud  is  brought  to  the  hammer— every thino-  is 

given  up.     What  he'll  do  I  haven't  an  idea.     But  I  must  say  I  think 
is  sense  of  honor  is  a  little  overstrained." 
"And  Lady  Alice  !"  ejaculated  Katherine. 

"  Of  course  Melford  will  soon  settle  that,  if  it  is  not  settled  already, 
for  a  g'ood  deal  was  done  before  the  matter  g-ot  wind.  There  hasn  t 
been  such  a  crash  for  a  long  time.  In  short,  Errington  is  utterly, 
completely  ruined." 

"I  never  heard  of  such  a  fool!"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde.  "It  was 
bad  enough  to  be  disappointed  of  the  wealth  old  Errino;-ton  was  sup- 

Eosed  to  have  left  behind  him,   but  to  give  up  everything  !    Why, 
e  is  only  fit  for  a  lunatic  asylum.     What  an  awfurdisappointment 
for  poor  Lady  Alice  !" 

Katherine  did  not,  could  not  speak.  The  rush  of  sorrow  for  the 
heavy  blow  which  had  fallen  on  the  man  she  had  robbed,  the  shame 
and  self-reproach,  which  had  been  lulled  asleep  for  a  while,  which 
now  woke  up  with  renewed  power  to  torment  and  irritate — these 
were  too  much  for  her  self-control,  and  while  Mrs.  Ormonde  and 
De  Burgh  eagerly  discussed  the  catastrophe,  she  kept  silence  and 
struggled  to  be  composed. 


CHAPTER  XTX. 

CONFESSION. 

"  Errington  is  completely  ruined  !"  De  Burgh's  words  repeated 
themselves  over  and  over  again  in  Katherine's  ears  through  the 
darkness  and  silence  of  her  sleepless  ni^-ht.  What  would  become 
of  him— that  grave,  stately  man  who  had  never  known  the  touch  of 
anything  common  or  unclean?  How  would  he  live?  And  what  an 
additional  blow  the  rupture  of  his  engagement  with  Lady  Alice  ! 
He  was  certainly  very  fond  of  her.  It  was  like  him  to  give  up  all 
he  possessed  to  save  tne  honor  of  his  name,  but  how  would  it  be  if 
he  were  penniless  ?  Had  ahe  not  robbed  him,  he  might  have  enough 
to  live  comfortably  after  satisfying  every  one.  As  she  thought,  a 
resolution  to  restore  what  she  had  taken  formed  itself  in  her  mind. 
Perhaps  if  he  could  show  that  he  had  still  a  solid  capital,  his  en- 
gagement to  Lady  Alice  need  not  be  broken  off.  If  she  could  re- 
store him  to  competence,  he  would  not  refuse  some  provision  for 
tbe  poor  dear  boys.  Were  she  secure  on  this  point,  she  would 
be  happier  without  the  money  than  with  i^.    But  the  humiliation  of 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  175 

confession— and  to  such  a  father  confessor !    Ho\r  could  she  do  it? 
Yet  it  must  be  done. 

"  Good  gracious,  Katherine,  you  loolc  like  a  ghost!"  was  Mrs. 
Ormonde's  salutation  when  the  little  party  met  at  breakfast  next 
morning.     "Pray  have  you  seen  one?" 

''Yes;  I  have  been  surrounded  by  a  whole  gallery  of  ghosts  all 
night— which  means  that  a  bad  consctence  would  not  let  me  sleep." 

"What  nonsense  !  Why,  you  are  a  perfect  saint,  Kate,  in  some 
ways  ;  but  in  others  I  must  say  you  are  foolish  ;  yes,  dear,  I  must 
say  it — veri/  foolish." 

"  I  dare  say  lam,"  returned  Katherine  ;  "but  whether  I  am  or 
not,  1  have  an  intense  headache,  so  you  must  excuse  me  if  I  am 
very  stupid." 

"  I  am  sure  you  want  change,  Katherine,  Do  come  back  with  me 
to  town.  There  is  quite  time  enough  to  put  up  all  you  want  before 
11,  and  the  train  goes  at  11.10.  There  is  a  little  dance,  '  small  and 
early,'  at  Lady  Mary  Vincent's  this  evening,  and  I  know  she  would 
be  delighted  to  see  you." 

"  I  do  not  think  hot  rooms  the  best  cure  for  a  headache,"  observed 
Miss  Pavne;  "aid  till  yesterday  Katherine  had  been  looking 
remarkably  well.     She  was  out  boating  too  long  in  the  sun." 

"You  are  very  good  to  trouble  about  me,  Ada.  My  best  cure  is 
quiet.  I  will  go  and  lie  down  as  soon  as  I  see  you  off,  and  I  dare 
say  shall  be  myself  again  in  the  evening.  I  may  come  up  to  town 
for  a  day  or  two  before  you  return  to  Castleford,  but  I  will  let  you 
know."' 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject  then,  but  when  Katherine 
rettirned  from  the  station  after  bidding  her  sister-in-law  good-by, 
Miss  Payne  met  her  with  a  strong  recommendation  to  take  some 
"sal  volatile  and  water,  and  to  lie  down  at  once." 

"  I  did  not,  of  course,  second  Mrs.  Ormonde's  suggestions— the 
idea  of  your  goino-  for  rest  or  health  to  her  house  .'—but  I  am  really 
vexed  to  see  vou  look  so  ill.    How  do  you  feel  ?" 

"  Very  well  disposed  to  follow  your'  good  advice.  If  I  could  get 
some  sleep,  I  should  be  quite  well."  Katherine  smiled  pleasantly  as 
she  spoke.  She  was  extremely  thankful  to  secure  an  hour  or  two  of 
silence  and  solitude. 

During  the  night  her  heart,  her  brain,  were  in  such  a  tumult  she 
could  not  think  consecutively.  Alone  in  her  room,  and  grown 
calmer,  she  could  plan  her  future  proceedings  and  screw  her  courage 
to  the  desperate  sticking -point  of  action  such  as  her  conscience  dfc- 
tated. 

Slie  fastened  her  door  and  set  her  window  wide  open.  After  gaz- 
ing for  soma  time  at  the  sea,  golden  and  glitterin"-  in  the  noonday 
sun,  ar.d  inhaling  the  soft  breeze  which  came  in  laden  with  briny 
freshn  .'-  ■■.  eU  ;  lay  down  and  closed  her  eyes.  But  though  keeping 
profouiill  .•  still,  "no  restful  looli  of  sleep  stole  over  her  set  face  ;  n^ 
she  was  tiiinking  hard,  for  how  long  she  could  not  tell.  When, 
however,  she  came  down-stairs  to  join  Miss  Payne  at  tea,  the 
anxious,  nervous,  alarmed  expression  of  her  eyes  had  changed  to 
one  of  gloomy  composure. 

"Though  I  do  not  care  to  stay  with  Ada,  I  want  to  go  to  town  to- 


176  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

morrow  for  a  little  shopping-,  and  to  see  Mr.  Newton  if  I  can.  I  will 
take  the  quick  train  at  half- past  eig'ht  and  return  in  the  evening. 
You  might  send  to  meet  the  nine  o'clock  express.  Should  anything 
occur  to  keep  me,  I  will  telegraph." 

"  Very  well  "—Miss  Payne's  usual  reply  to  Katherine's  proposi- 
tions.    "But  are  you  quite  sure  you  feel  equal  to  the  journey  ?' 

"Yes,  quite  eoual,"  returned  Katherine,  with  a  short  deep  sigh. 
"  I  believe  it  will  do  me  good." 

That  Errington  had  been  stunned  by  the  blow  Avhich  had  fallen  so 
suddenly  upon  him  cannot  be  disputed.  His  first  and  bitterest  con- 
cern was  dread  lest  the  character  of  his  father's  house,  which  had 
always  stood  so  high,  lest  the  honor  of  his  own  name,  should  suffer 
thesm.llest  tarnish.  It  was  this  that  made  him  so  eager  to  ascer- 
tain the  full  liabilities  of  the  firm,  so  ready  to  sacrifice  all  he  pos- 
sessed so  that  no  one  save  himself  should  be  the  loser.  "  If  I  accept- 
ed a  handsome  fortune  from  transactions  over  which  I  exercised  no 
supervision,  I  must  hold  myself  doubly  responsible  for  the  result," 
he  argued,  and  at  once  set  to  work  to  turn  all  he  possessed  into 
money. 

In  truth  the  prospect  of  poverty  did  not  dismay  him. 

His  tastes  were  very  simple.  It  was  the  loss*  of  power  and  posi- 
tion, which  wealth  always  bestows,  which  he  would  feel  most,  and 
the  necessity  of  renouncino*  Lady  Alice. 

This  was  imperative.  Yet  it  surprised  him  to  perceive  how  little 
he  felt  the  prospect  of  parting  with  her  on  his  own  account.  Indeed 
he  was  ratiier  ashamed  of  his  indifference.  It  was  for  Lady  Alice  he 
felt.  It  would  be  such  a  terrible  disappointment— ih.t  that  Erring- 
ton  had  much  personal  vanity.  He  hoped  and  thought  Ladv  Alice 
Mordaunt  liked  him  in  a  cahn  and  reasonable  manner,  which  is  the 
best  guarantee  for  married  happiness.  But  it  was  the  loss  of  a  tran- 
quil home,  a  luxurious  life,  an  escape  from  the  genteel  poverty  of  a 
deeply  embarrassed  earl's  daughter  to  the  ease  and  comfort  of  a  rich 
man's  wife,  that  he  deplored  for  her.  Poor  helpless  child  !  she  would 
probably  find  a  rich  husband  ere  long  who  would  give  her  all  pos- 
sible luxuries,  for  a  noble's  daughter  of  high  degree  is  generally  a 
marketable  article.  But  he,  Miles  Errington,  would  have  been  kind 
and  patient.  Would  that  other  possible  fellow  be  kind  and  patient 
too?  Knowing  his  own  sex,  Errington  doubted  it.  He  had  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  the  generosity  which  belongs  to  strength.  To  chil- 
dren, and  the  kind  of  pretty,  undecided  women  who  rank  as  children, 
he  was  wonderfully  considerate.  But  it  was  quite  possible  that 
were  he  married  to  a  sensible,  companionable  wiie  he  might  be 
exacting. 

At  present  it  seemed  highly  improbable  that  he  should  ever  reach 
a  position  which  would  enable  him  to  commit  matrimony.  Thirty- 
four  is  rather  an  advanced  age  at  which  to  begin  life  afresh. 

The  prospect  of  bachelorhood,  however,  by  no  means  dismayed 
him.  Indeed  it  was  more  a  sense  of  his  social  duties  as  a  man  of 
fortune  and  a  future  senator  that  had  impelled  him  to  seek  a  wife, 
not  an  irresistible  desire  for  the  companionship  of  a  ministering 
spirit.    He  was  truly  thankful  that  his  marriage  had  been  delayed, 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  177 

and  that  he  was  not  hampered  by  any  sense  of  duty  toward  a  wife 
in  his  design  of  sacrificing  his  all  to  save  his  credit. 

After  the  first  few  days  of  stunning  surprisa,  Errington  set  vig- 
orously to  work  to  clear  the  wreck.  Garston  was  advertised  ;  his 
stud,  his  furniture — everything — put  up  for  sale,  and  his  own  days 
divided  between  his  solicitor  and  his  stock-broker.  His  first  step 
was  to  explain  matters  to  his  intended  father-in-law,  who,  b'^ng  an 
impulsive,  self-indulgent  man,  swore  a  good  dv^al  about  the  ill-luck 
of  all  concerned,  but  at  once  declared  the  engagement  must  be  at  an 
end. 

As  Lady  Alice  was  still  in  Switzerland  with  her  brother  and  his 
wife,  it  was  considered  wise  to  spare  her  the  pain  of  an  interview. 
Lord  Melford  explained  matters  to  his  daughter  in  an  extremely  out- 
spoken letter,  enclosing  one  from  Errington,  in  which,  with  much 
good  feeling,  he  bade  her  a  kindly  farewell.  To  this  she  replied 
jTomptly,  and  a  week  saw  the  extinction  of  the  whole  affair. 
Errington  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  "rapid  act."  It  was  then 
about  three  weeks  after  the  blow  had  fallen — a  warm  glowing  June 
morning.  Errington's  man  of  business  had  just  left  him,  and  he 
had  returned  to  his  writing-table,  which  was  strewn,  or  rather 
covered,  with  papers  (nothing  Errington  ever  handled  was 
"  strewn"),  and  continued  his  task  of  making  out  a  list  of  his 
private  liabilities,  which  were  comparatively  light,  when  his  valet 
—not  yet  discharged,  though  ali*eady  warned  to  look  for  another 
master— approached,  with  his  usually  impassive  countenance,  and 
presented  a  small  note. 

Errington  opened  it,  and  to  his  inexpressible  surprise  read  as 
follows : 

"To  Mr.  Errington, — Allow  me  to  speak  to  you  alone. 

"  KaTHERINE  LiDDElIi." 

*'  Who  brought  this?"  asked  Errington, suppressing  all  expression 
as  well  as  he  could. 

"  A  young  person  in  black,  sir — least  ways  I  think  she's  j^oung." 

"Show  her  in  ;  and,  Harris,  I  am  en"-aged  if  any  one  calls." 

Errington  went  to  the  door  to  meet  nis  most  unexpected  visitor. 
The  next  moment  she  stood  before  him.  He  bowed  with  much 
deference.  She  bent  her  head  in  silence,  but  did  not  offer  to  shake 
hands.  She  wore  a  black  dress  and  a  very  simple  black  straw  hat, 
round  which  a  white  gauze  veil  was  tied,  which  effectually  concealed 
her  face. 

"Pray  sit  down,"  was  all  Errington  could  think  of  saying,  so 
astonished  was  he  at  her  sudden  appearance. 

Katherine  took  a  seat  opposite  to  his.  She  unfastened  and  took 
off  h>*r  veil,  displaying  a  face  from  which  her  usual  rich  soft  color 
had  faded,  sombre  eyes,  and  tremulous  lips.  Looking  full  at  him, 
she  said,  without  greeting  of  any  kind,  "  Do  you  think  me  mad  to 
come  here  ?" 

"  I  am  a  little  surprised  ;  but  if  I  can  be  of  any  use—"  Errington 
began  calmly.     She  interrupted  him. 

"I  hope  to  be  of  use  to //o«.  ]No  one  except  myself  can  explain 
bow  or  why  ;  that  is  the  rieason  I  have  intruded  upon  you," 


178  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Youdonot  in'^vufl;^,  MissLiddell.  I  am  quite  at  your  service; 
only  I  hope  yoii  aiv.  not  distressing-  yourself  on  mv  account." 

'"On  yours  ar.d  r.iy  own."  Her  eyes  sank,  ana  her  hands  played 
nei'vously  v\  ith  Uie  handle  of  a  small  dainty  leather  bag  she  carried, 
as  she  paused.  Then,  looking  up  steadily, "and  sjieaking  in  a  mono- 
tonous tone,  as  if  she  were  repeating-  a  lesson,  with  parched  lips  she 
went  on  :  "  I  did  you  a  great  wrong  some  years  ago.  I  was  sorry, 
but  I  had  not  the  courage  to  atone  until  I  "learned  (only  yesterday) 
that  you  had  lost,  or  rather  given  up,  your  fortune,  and  that  yoiir 
engagement  might  be  broken  off.  (/  must  speak  of  these  things. 
You  will  forgive  me  before  I  come  to  an  end.)  Then  I  felt  some- 
thing stronger  than  myself  that  forced  me  to  tell  you  all."  Her 
heart  be^at  so  hard  that  her  voice  could  not  be  steadied.  She  stopped 
to  breathe. 

"  I  fear  you  are  exciting  yourself  needlessly,"  said  Errington, 
quite  bewildered,  and  almost  fearing  that  his  visitor's  brain  was 
affected. 

"Oh,  listen  !— do  listen  !  My  uncle,  John  Liddell,  your  father's  old 
friend,  left  all  his  money  toyou.  I  hid  the  will,  and  succeeded  as  next  of 
kin.  The  property  amounts  to  somethingmore  than  eighty  thousand 
pounds,  and  I  have  not  sp3nt  half  the  income,  so  there  are  some 
savings  besides.  Can  you  not  live  comfortably  on  that,  and  marry 
Lady  Alice?" 

Errington  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  speechless.  A  sigh  of  relief 
broke  from  Katherine.  The  color  rose  to  ner  cheeks,  her  throat,  her 
small  white  ears,  and  then  slowly  faded. 

"I  can  hardly  understand  you.  Miss  Liddell.  I  fear  you  are 
under  the  effect  "of  some  nervous  hullucination." 

"I  am  not.  I  can  pi'ove  I  am  not."  She  drew  forth  the  packet 
inscribed  "MS.  to  be  destroyed,"  and  laid  it  before  him.  "They're 
is  the  will.  Thank  God  I  never  could  bring  myself  to  destroy  it. 
Here,  pray  read  it."  She  opened  the  document  "and  handed  it  to 
him. 

There  were  a  few  moments'  dead  silence  while  Errington  hastily 
skimmed  the  will.  "I  am  most  reluctantly  obliged  to  believe  you," ' 
he  said  at  length.  "  But  what  an  extraordinary  circumst.ince ! 
How"— looking  earnestly  at  her — "how  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  to 
—to—" 

"  To  commit  a  felony?"  put  in  Katherine,  as  he  paused. 

"No  ;  I  was  not  going  to  use  such  a  word,"  he  said,  gravely,  but 
not  unkindly. 

"If  you  have  time  to  listen  I  will  tell  you  everything.    Now  that 
I  have  told  the  ugly  secret  that  has  made  a  discord  in  my  life,  I  can 
«pe^k  more  easily."    But  her  sweet  mouth  still  quivered." 
'  "  Yes,  tell  me  all,"  said  Errington,  more  eagerly  than  perhaps  ha 
had  ever  spoken  before. 

In  a  low  but  more  composed  voice  Katherine  gave  a  rapid  account 
of  the  circumstances  which  led  to  her  residence  with  her  uncle  ;  of  her 
intense  desire  to  help  the  dear  mother  whose  burden  was  almost  mora 
than  she  could  bear  ;  then  of  the  change  which  came  to  the  old 
miser— his  increasing  interest  in  herself,  and  finally  of  his  expressed 
intention  to  change  his  will— as  she  hoped,  in  her  favor  ;  of  herleav- 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  f(9 

ing  it,  by  his  direction,  in  the  writing-table  drawer  ;  of  his  terribly- 
sudden  death. 

Then  came  the  great  temptation.  "When  Mr.  Newton  said  that 
if  the  will  existed  it  would  be  in  tbe  bureau,  biit  that  as  he  had  been 
on  the  point  of  making-  another,  so  he  (Mr.  Newton)  hoped  he  had 
destroyed  the  last,"  continued  Katherine,  "  a  thought  darted  through 
my  brain.  Why  should  it  be  found?  He  no  longer  wished  its 
provisions  to  be  carried  out.  I  should  not,  in  destroying  or  sup- 
pressing it,  defeat  the  wishes  of  the  dead.  I  determined,  if  Mr.  New-  ; 
ton  asked  me  a  direct  question,  I  would  tell  him  the  truth  ;  if  not,  I  i 
would  simply  be  silent.  In  short,  I  mentally  fms(id  for  the  guidance  ' 
of  my  conduct.  Silence  won.  Mr.  Newton  asked  nothing  :  he  was 
too  glad  that  everything  was  mine.  He  has  been  very,  very  good 
to  me.  I  ima";"ined  that  half  my  uncle's  money  would  go  "^to  my 
brother's  children,  but  it  did  not";  so  when  I  came  of  age  I  settled  a 
third  upon  them.  Of  course  the  deed  of  gift  is  now  but  so  much 
waste  paper,  and  for  them  I  would  earnestly  implore  you  to  spare  a 
little  yearly  allowance  for  education,  to  prepare  them  to  earn  their 
own  bread.  I  feel  sure  you  will  do  this,  and  I  do  deeply  dre-ad  their 
being  thrown  on  Colonel  Ormonde's  charity  ;  their  lot  would  be  very 
miserable.  My  poor  little  boys  !"  Her  voice  broke,  and  she  stopped 
abruptly. 

Errington's  e3'-es  dwelt  upon  her,  almost  sternly,  with  the  deepest 
attention,  while  she  spoke.  Nor  did  he  break  silence  at  once  ;  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  resting  one  closed  hand  on  the  table  before 
him.  At  la-st  he  exclaimed :  "  1  wish  you  had  not  told  me  this!  I 
could  not  have  imagined  you  capable  of  such  an  act." 

"  And  more,"  said  Katherine  ;  "although  I  wish  to  make  what 
reparation  I  can,  had  that  act  to  be  done  again — even  with  the  an- 
ticipation of  this  bitter  hour — I'd  do  it." 

She  looked  straight  into  Errington's  eyes,  her  own  aflame  with 
sudden  passion.  He  was  silent,  his  brow  slightly  knit,  a  puzzled 
expression  in  his  face.  The  natural  motion  of  his  mind  was  to 
condemn  severely  such  a  lawless  sentiment,  yet  he  could  not  re- 
sist thinking  of  those  brilliant  speaking  eyes,  nor  help  the  conviction 
that  he  had  never  met  a  real  live  woman  before.  It  was  like  a  scene 
on  the  stage  ;  for  demonstrative  emotion  always  appeared  theatri- 
cal to  him,  only  it  was  terribly  earnest  this  time. 

"  You  would  not  say  so  were  you  calmer,"  said  Errington,  in  a 
curious  hesitating  manner.  "  Why— why  did  you  not  come  and  tell 
me  your  need  for  your  uncle's  monev?  Do  you  think  I  am  so 
avaricious  as  to  retain  the  fortune,  or  all  the  fortune,  that  ought  to 
have  been  yours,  when  I  had  enough  of  my  own  ?" 

"  How  could  I  tell  ?"  she  cried.  "  If  I  knew  you  then  as  I  do  now 
I  should  have  asked  you,  and  saved  my  soul  alive  ;  but  what  did  the 
name  of  Errington  convey  tome?  Only  the  idea  of  agreedy  enemy  ! 
Are  men  so  ready  to  cast  the  wealth  thev  can  claim  into  the  lap  of 
another?  "When  you  spoke  to  me  that  day  at  Castleford  I  thon.!jht  I 
should  have  dropped  at  your  feet  with  tiie  overpowering  sense  of 
shame.  But  withal,  when  I  remember  my  disappointment,  my  utter 
inability  to  help  my  dear  overtasked  mother,  round  whom  the  net 
of  difficult/,  of  debt,  of  fruitless  work,  was  drawings  closer  and 


180  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

closer,  I  ag-ain  feel  the  irresistible  force  of  the  temptation.  You,  who 
are  wise  and  strong  and  just,  might  have  resisted  ;  "but" — with  a 
slight  graceful  gesture  of  humility — "  you  see  m  hat  I  am.'' 

"  If  you  had  stopped  to  think  !"  Errington  was  beginning  with 
tmusual  severity,  for  he  was  irritated  by  the  confusion  in  his  own 
mind,  which  was  so  diilerent  from  his  ordinary  unhesitating  de- 
cision between  right  and  wrong. 

"But  when  you  love  any  one  very  much— so  entirely  that  j-ou 
know  every  change  of  the  dear  face,  the  meaning  even  of  the  droop- 
ing hand  or  the  bend  of  the  weary  head  ;  wh(!n  you  know  that  a 
true  brave  heart  is  breaking  under  a  load  of  care— care  for  you,  for 
your  future,  when  it  will  no  longer  be  near  to  watch  over  and  up- 
hold you— and  that  no  thought  or  tenderness  or  personal  exertion 
can  lift  that  load,  ^ly  the  magic  of  gold,  why,  you  would  do  almost 
anything  to  get  it.  Would  you  not  if  you 'loved  like  this?"  con- 
cluded Katherine.  She  had  spoken  rapidly  and  with  lire. 
"But  I  never  have,"  returned  Errington,  startled. 
*'Then,"  said  she,  with  some  deliberation,  "wisdom  for  you  is 
from  one  entrance  quite  shut  out."  She  pressed  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes,  and  was  very  still  during  a  pause,  which  Errington 
hesitated  to  break. 

"It  is  no  doubt  lost  breath  to  excuse  myself  to  a  man  of  your 
character,  only  do  believe  I  was  not  meanly  greedv  !  Now  I  have 
told  you  everything,  I  readily  resign  into  your  hands  what  I  ought 
never  to  have  taken.  And— "and  you  will  spare  my  nephews  where- 
withal to  educate  them  ?  Do  what  I  can,  this  is  beyond  my  powers, 
but  I  trust  to  your  generosity  not  to  let  them  be  a  burden  on  Colonel 
Ormonde.  I  leave  the  will  with  you."  She  made  a  movement  as  if 
to  put  on  her  veil, 

"Listen  to  me,  Miss  Liddell,"  said  Errington,  speaking  very 
earnestly  and  with  an  effort.  "You  are  in  a  state  of  exaltation,  of 
mental  excitement.  The  consciousness  of  the  terrible  mistake  into 
which  you  were  tempted  has  thrown  your  judgment  off  its  balance. 
I  do  not  for  an  instant  doubt  the  sincerity  of  your  proposition,  but  a 
little  reflection  will  show  you  I  could  not  entertain  it." 
i  "  Why  not  ?  I  am  quite  willing  to  bear  the  blame,  the  shame,  I 
deserve,  rather  than  see  you  parted  from  the  woman  who  was  so 
nearly  your  wife,  who  would  no  doubt  suffer  keenl}',  and  who—" 

"Pray  hear  me,"  interrupted  Errington.  "To  part  with  Lady 
Alice  is  a  great  aggravation  of  my  present  troubles :  but  considering 
the  kind  of  life  to  which  we  were  both  accustomed,  and  which  she 
had  a  right  to  expect,  I  am  sincerely  thankful  she  was  preserved 
from  sharing  my  lot.  Alone  I  can  battle  with  life  ;  distracted  bv 
knowing  I  had  dragged  her  down,  I  should  be  paralyzed.  I  shall 
always  remember  with  grateful  regard  the  lady  who  honored  me  by 
promising  to  be  my  wife,  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  that  she  is  in 
a  safe  position  under  the  care  of  a  worthier  man  than  myself.  7'hat 
matter  is  at  rest  forever.  Now  as  to  using  the  information  you 
have  placed  in  my  power,  you  ask  what  is  impossible.  First,  it  is 
evident  that  the  late  Mr.  Liddell  fully  intended  to  alter  his  will  in 
your  favor.  It  would  have  been  mo.st  unjust  to  have  bestowed  his 
fortune  to  me.    I  am  extremely  glad  it  is  yours." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  181 

" But,"  ag-ain  interrupted  Katherine,  "why  should  you  not  shara 
It  at  least  ?  Why  should  you  be  penniless  while  I  am  rich  with 
what  is  not  mine?'' 

"I  shall  not  be  absolutely  penniless,"  said  Erring-ton,  smiling' 
gravely.  '•  Even  if  I  were,"  he  continued,  with  unusual  animation, 
"do  you  think  me  capable  of  rebuilding"  my  fortune  on  your  dis- 
grace? or  of  inventiig"  some  elaborate  lie  to  account  for  the  pos- 
session of  that  unlucky  will  ?  No  amount  of  riches  could  repay  me 
for  either.  I  dare  say  the  temptation,  you  describe  was  irresistible 
to  a  nature  like  yours,  and  I  dare  say  too  the  punishment  of  your 
self-condemnation  is  bitter  enough.  Now  you  must  reflect  that  your 
duty  is  to  keep  the  secret  to  which  you  have  bound  yourself.  If  you 
raise  the  veil  which  must  always  hide  the  true  facts  of  your  suc- 
cession, you  would  create  great  unhappiness  and  confusion  in 
Colonel  Ormonde's  family,  and  injure  the  innocent  woman  whom 
he  would  never  have  married  had  he  not  been  sure  you  would 
provide  for  l«he  boys.  It  would  be  cruel  to  break  up  a  home  merely 
to  indulge  a  morbid  desire  for  atonement.  No,  Miss  Liddell.  Be 
guided  by  me  ;  accept  the  life  you  have  brought  upon  yourself.  /, 
the  only  one  who  has  a  right  to  do  it,  willingly  resign  what  ought 
to  have  been  yours  witliout  your  unfortunately  illegal  act.  Your 
Pv'xret  is  perfectly  safe  with  me.  Time  will  heal  the  wounds  you 
have  inflicted  on  yourself  and  enable  you  to  forget.  Leave  tiiis'  ill- 
omened  document  with  me  ;  it  is  safer  than  in  your  hands.  Indeed 
there  is  no  use  in  keeping  it." 

"But  what — what  Avill  become  of  «/om  ?"  she  asked,  with  strange 
familiarity,  the  outcome  of  strong  excitement  which  carried  her 
over  all  conventional  lirtiils. 

"  Oh,  I  have  had  some  training  in  the  world  both  of  men  and 
books,  and  I  hope  to  be  able  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door." 

"  Would  you  not  accept  part  at  least— a  sum  of  money,  you  know, 
to  begin  something?"  asked  Katheiine,  her  voice  quivering,  her 
nerves  relaxing  from  their  high  tension,  and  feeling  utterly  beaten, 
her  high  resolves  of  sacriflce  and  renunciation  tumbling  about  her, 
like  a  house  of  cards,  at  the  touch  of  common-sense. 

"I  do  not  think  any  arrangements  of  the  kind  practicable,'' re- 
turned Errin^ton,  with  a  kind  smile,  "  I  understand  your  eag-er- 
ness  to  relieve  your  conscience  by  an  act  of  restitution,  but  now  you 
are  exonerated.  I  ask  nothing  but  that  you  should  forgive  yourself, 
and  knit  up  the  ravelled  web  of  your  life.  The  fortune  ought  to 
be  yours— is  yours— shall  be  yours." 

'"*  Will  you  promise  that  if  you  ever  want  help— money  help— you 
v\illask  me?  I  shall  have  more  money  every  year,  for  I  shall 
never  spend  my  income.'' 

"I  shall  not  want  help,"  he  returned,  quietly.  "But  though  it  is 
not  likely  we  shall  meet  again,  believe  rhe  I  shall  always  be 
glad  to  know  you  are  well  and  happy.  Let  this  painful  conversa- 
tion be  the  last  we  have  on  this  subject.  For  my  part,  I  grant  you 
plenary  absolution." 

"You  are  good  and  generous ;  you  are  wise  too  ;  your  judgment 
constrains  me.  Yet  Ihope  I  shall  never  see  you  a^-ain.  It  is  too 
humiliating  to  meet  your  eyes. "  She  spoke  brokenly  as  she  tied 
tUe  white  veil  closely  over  her  face. 


182  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  Nevertheless  we  part  friends,"  said  Erring-ton,  and  hold  out  his 
hand.  She  put  hers  in  it.  He  felt  how  it  trembled,  and  held  it  an 
instant  with  a  friendly  pressure.  Then  he  opened  the  door  and  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  entrance,  where  he  bowed  low  as  she  passed  out. 

Erring-ton  returnixi  at  once  to  his  writing-table  and  his  calcula- 
tions. He  took  up  his  pen,  but  he  did  not  beg-in  to  write.  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  fell  iftto  an  interesting-  train  of  thoug-ht. 
What  an  extraordinary  mad  proceeding-  it  was  of  that  g-irl  to  conceal 
the  will !  It  was  strangely  unprincipled.  "How  impossible  it  is  to 
trust  a  person  who  acts  from  impulse  !  The  diflerence  between 
masculine  and  feminine  character  is  immense.    No  man  with  a 

train  of  honor  in  him  would  have  done  what  she  did  ;  only  .soma 
astardly  hound  who  could  cheat  at  cards.  And  she— somehow  sha 
seems  a  pure  good  woman  in  spite  of  all.  I  suppose  in  a  woman's 
sensitive  and  weaker  nature  good  and  evil  are  less  distinct,  more 
shaded  into  each  other.  After  all,  I  think  I  would  trust  my  life  to 
the  word  of  this  daring  law-breaker."  And  Errington  recalled  the 
expressive  tones  of  her  voice,  surprised  to  feel  again  the  strange 
thrill  which  shivered  through  him  when  she  had  looked  straight  into 
his  eyes,  her  own  aglow  with  momentary  deiiance,  and  said,  "  Had 
it  to  be  done  again,  I'd  do  it !''  He  had  never  been  brought  face  to 
face  with  real  emotion  before.  He  knew  such  a  thing  existed  ;  that  it 
led  like  most  things  to  good  and  to  evil ;  that  it  was  exceedingly  use 
ful  to  poets,  who  often  touched  him,  and  to  actors,  who  did  not ;  but 
in  real  everyday  life  he  had  rarely,  if  ever,  seen  it.  The  people 
with  whom  he  associated  were  rich,  well  born,  well  trained;  a 
crumpled  rose  leaf  here  and  there  was  the  Avorst  trouble  in  their 
easy,  conventional,  luxurious  lives.  Of  course  lie  had  met  men  on 
the  road  to  ruin  who  swore  and  drank  and  gaml)led  and  generally- 
disgraced  themselves.  Such  cases,  however,  did  not  affect  him 
much  ;  he  only  touched  such  characters  with  moral  tongs.  Now 
this  delicate,  refined  girl  had  humbled  herself  before  him.  Her  sweet 
varying  tones,  her  moist  glowing  eyes,  the  indescribable  tremulous 
earnestness  which  was  the  undertone  of  all  she  said,  her  determined 
efforts  for  s.^  command,  made  a  deep  impression  on  him.  Was  she 
right  when  she  said  that  from  him  "  wisdom  by  one  entrance  was 
quite  shut  out  l-*"  At  all  events  he  felt,  though  he  did  not  consci- 
ously acknowledge  it  even  to  himself,  that  this  impulsive,  inexperi- 
enced girl,  whom  he  strove  to  look  down  upon  from  the  unsullied 
heights  of  his  own  integrity,  had  revealed  to  him  something  of  life's 
inner  core  which  had  hitherto  been  hidden  from  his  sight. 

But  all  this  dreaming  was  unpardonable  waste  of  time  when  so 
much  serious  work  lay  before  him.  So  Errington  resolutely  turned 
from  his  unusual  and  distiu-biiig^  reverie,  dipped  his  pen  iuthe  ink, 
and  beg;au  to  wi'ite  steadii/, 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  '  X88 

CHAPTER  XX. 

PLENARY   ABSOLUTION. 

Kathbrtnb  never  could  distinctly  remember  what  she  did  after 
leaving  Errington.  She  was  humbled  in  the  dust— crushed,  dazed. 
She  felt  that  every  one  must  perceive  the  stamp  of  "felon"  upon 
her. 

The  passionate  desire  to  restore  his  rig-htful  possessions  to  Erring- 
ton,  to  confess  all,  had  carried  her  through  the  dreadful  interview. 
She  was  infinitely  grateful  to  him  for  the  kind  tact  with  which  he 
concealed  the  profound  contempt  her  confession  must  have  evoked, 
but  no  doubt  that  sentiment  was  now  in  full  possession  of  his  mind. 
It  showed  in  his  unhesitating,  even  scornful,  rejection  of  her  offered 
restitution.  She  almost  regretted  having  made  the  attempt,  and  yet 
she  had  a  kind  of  miserable  satisfaction  in  having  told  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  to  Errington  ;  anything  was  better  than  wearing  false 
colors  in  his  sight. 

It  was  this  sense  of  deception  that  had  embittered  her  intercourse 
with  him  at  Castleford  ;  otherwise  she  would  have  been  gratified  by 
his  grave  friendly  preference. 

How  calm,  how  unmoved,  he  seemed  amid  the  wrSck  of  his  for- 
tunes t  Yes,  his  was  true  strength— the  strength  of  self-mastery. 
How  different,  how  far  nobler  than  the  vehemence  of  De  Burgh's 
will,  which  was  too  strong  for  his  guidance  !  But  Lady  Alice  could 
never  have  loved  Errington— never — or  she  would  have  loved  on 
and  waited  for  him  till  the  time  came  when  union  might  be  possible. 
Had  Hhe  been  in  her  place  !  But  at  the  thought  her  heart  throbljed 
wildly  with  the  sudden  perception  that  she  could  have  loved  him 
AV(!ll,"with  all  her  soul,  and  rested  on  him,  confident  in  his  superior 
wisdom  and  strength — a  woman's  ideal  love.  And  before  this  man 
siiH  had  been  obliged  to  lay  down  her  self-respect,  to  confess  she  had 
th  '.'it  'd  him  basely,  to  resign  his  esteem  for  ever  !  It  was  a  bitter 
runisiiment,  but  even  had  she  been  stainless  and  he  a  free  man,  she, 
JCath'rimJ,  was  not  the  sort  of  girl  he  would  like.  She  was  too  im- 
pul.sive,  too  much  at  the  mercy  of  her  emotions,  too  quick  in  form- 
inir  and  expressing  opinions.  '  No ;  the  feminine  reserve  and  tran- 
quility of  Lady  Alice  were  much  more  likely  to  attract  his  afiections 
and  call  forth'  his  respect.  This  was  an  additional  ingredient  of 
bitti-rness,  and  Katherine  felt  herself  an  outcast,  undeserving  of 
tenderness  or  esteem. 

The  weather  was  oppressively  warm  and  sunless.  A  dim  instinc- 
tive recollection  of  her  excuse  for  coming  to  town  forced  Katherine 
to  visit  some  of  the  shops  where  she  was  in  the  habit  of  dealing,  and 
then  she  sat  for  more  than  a  weary  hour  in  the  Ladies'  Room  at 
Waterloo  Station,  affecting  to  read  a  newspaper  which  she  did  not 
see,  waiting  for  the  train  that  would  take  her  home  to  the  darkness 
and  stillness  in  which  friendly  night  would  hide  her  for  a  while. 
The  journey  back  was  a  continuation  of  the  same  torraentino;"  dream- 
like semi -consciousness,  and  by  the  time  she  reached  Clifi  Cottage 
she  felt  physicallv  ill. 
" It  was  dreadfully  foolish  to  go  up  to  town  in  this  heat,"  sai4 


184  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Miss  Payne,  severely,  when  she  brouo^ht  up  some  tea  to  Katherine's 
room,  -where  she  retreated  on  her  arrival.  "I  dare  say  you  could 
have  written  for  what  you  wanted." 

"Not  exactly  " — with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  never  saw  you  look  so  ill.  You  must  take  some  sal  volatile, 
and  lie  down.  If  there  had  been  much  sun,  I  should  have  said  yovL 
had  had  a  sunstroke.  I  hope,  however,  a  good  night's  rest  will  set 
you  up. " 

"  No  doubt  it  will ;  so  I  will  try  and  sleep  now." 

"  Quite  right.  I  will  leave  you,  and  tell  the  boys  you  cannot  see 
them  till  to-morrow."  So  ^]i.ss  Payne,  who  had  "a  grand  power  of 
minding  her  own  affairs  and  abstaining  from  troublesome  questions, 
softly  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

It  took  some  time  to  rally  from  the  overwhelming  humiliation  of 
this  crisis.  Katherine  came  slowly  back  to  herself,  yet  not  quite 
herself.  Miss  Payne  had  been  so  much  disturbed  by  her  loss  of 
appetite,  of  energy,  of  color,  that  she  had  insisted  on  consulting  the 
local  doctor,  who  pronounced  her  to  be  suffering  from  low  fever  and 
nervous  depression.  He  prescribed  tonics  and  warm  sea-water  baths, 
which  advice  Katherine  meekly  followed.  Soon,  to  the  pride  oi,  the 
Sandbourne  JEsculapius,  a  young  practitioner,  she  showed  signs  of 
improvement,  and  declared  herself  perfectly  well. 

Perhaps  the  tonic  which  had  assisted  her  to  complete  recovery  was 
a  letter  which  reached  her  about  a  week  after  the  interview  that  had 
affected  her  so  deeply.  It  was  addressed  in  large,  firm,  clear  writing, 
which  was  strange  to  her. 

"  I  venture  to  trouble  you  with  a  few  words,"  (it  ran)  "  because 
when  last  I  saw  you  I  was  profoundly  impressed  by  the  sufiering 
you  could  not  hide.  I  cann'ot  refrain  from  writing  to  entreat  you 
will  accept  the  position  in  which  you  are  placed.  Having  done  your 
best  to  rectify  what  is  now  irrevocable,  be  at  peace  with  your  con- 
science. I  am  the  only  individual  entitled  to  complain  or  interfere 
with  your  succession,  and  1  fully,  freely  make  over  to  you  any 
rights  1  possess.  Had  your  imcle's  fortiuie  passed  to  me,  it  would 
have  been  an  injustice  for  which  I  should  have  felt  bound  to  atone  ; 
nor  would  you  have  refused  my  proiX)sition  to  this  effect.  Cojisider 
this  page  of  your  life  blotted  out,  ca.siing  it  from  your  mind.  Usj 
and  enjoy  your  future  as  a  woman  of  your  nature,  so  far  as  1  under- 
stand it,  can  do.  It  will  probably  be'^long  before  I  see  you  ag'ain 
— which  I  regret  the  less  because  it  might  pain  vou  to  meet  me  be- 
fore time  has  blunted  the  keen  edge  of  your  self-reproach.  Absent 
or  present,  however,  I  shall  always  be'  glad  to  know  that  you  are 
well  and  happv. 

♦»  Will  you  let  me  have  a  line  in  reply  ? 

"  Yours  faithfully,  jJjles  Errington." 

The  perusal  of  this  letter  brouofht  Katherine  the  infinite  relief  of 
tears.  How  good  and  generous  he  was  !  How  heartily  she  admired 
him  !  How  gladly  she  confessed  her  own  inferiority  to  him  !  For- 
given by  him,  she  could  face  life  agaiu  with  a  sort  of  humble  cour- 


A  CROOKED   PATH.  185 

age.  But  oh !  it  would  be  impossible  to  meet  his  eyes.  No  ;  years 
would  not  suffice  to  blunt  the  keen  self-reproach  which  the  thoug-ht 
of  him  must  alwaj's  call  up— the  shame,  the  pride,  the  dread,  the 
tender  gratitude.  Long  and  passionately  she  wept  before  she  could 
recover  sufficiently  to  write  him  the  reply  he  asked.  Then  it  seem- 
ed to  her  that  the  bitterness  and  cruel  remorse  had  been  melted  and 
washed  away  by  these  warm  grateful  tears.  He  forgave  har,  and 
she  could  endure  the  pressure  of  her  shameful  secret  more  easily  in 
future.  At  last  she  took  her  pen,  and  feeling  that  the  lines  siie  was 
about  to  trace  would  be  a  final  farewell,  wrote  : 

"My  words  must  be  few,  for  none  I  can  find  will  express  r-v 
sense  of  the  service  iiours  have  done  me.  I  accept  your  gift.  I  wil! 
try  and  follow  your  advice.  Shall  the  day  ever  come  when  you  will 
honor  me  by  accepting  part  of  what  is  your  own?  Thank  you  for 
your  kind  suggestion  not  to  meet  me  ;  it  would  be  more  than!  could 
bear.    Yours,  Katherine." 

Then  with  deepest  regret  she  tore  up  his  precious  letter  into  tinr 
morsels,  and  striking  a  match,  consumed  them.  It  would  not  do  to 
incur  the  possibility  of  such  a  letter  being  read  by  any  third  pair  of 
eyes.  Moreover,  she  was  careful  to  post  her  reply  herself.  And  so, 
as  Erring'ton  said,  that  page  of  her  story  was  blotted  out,  at  least 
from  the  exterior  world,  but  to  her  own  mind  it  would  be  ever 
present :  round  this  crisis  her  deepest,  most  painful,  ay,  and  sweet- 
est memories  would  cling.  It  was  past,  however,  and  she  must  take 
up  her  life  again. 

She  felt  tioinsthing  of  the  weakness,  the  softness,  which  convales- 
cents experi.Mice  when  first  they  begin  to  go  about  after  a  long  ill- 
ness, the  dreamy,  quiet  pleasure  of  coming  back  to  life.  The  boys 
continued  to  beiior  deepest  interest.  So  time  went  on,  and  no  ouij 
seemed  to  perceive  the  subtile  change  which  had  sobered  her  spirit. 

The  season  was  oyervandMrs.  Ormonde  descended  on  Cliff  Cottage 
for  a  parting  visit.  She  had  only  given  notice  of  her  approach  by  a 
telegram. 

"You  know  you  are  quite  too  obstinate,  Katherine,"  she  said,  as 
the  sisters-in-law  sat  tog"ether  in  the  drawing-room,  waiting  for  th* 
cool  of  the  evening  before  venturing  out.  "  You  never  came  to  me 
all  through  the  season  except  once,  when  you  wanted  to  shop,  and 
now  you  refuse  to  join  us  at  Castleford  in  Sept-nnber,  when  we  are 
to  have  I'cally  quite  a  nice  party  :  Mr.  De  Burg-h  and  Lord  Rivers- 
dale  and— oh"!  several  really  good  men." 

"/dare  say  I  do  .seem  stupid  to  you,  but  then,  you  see,  I  know 
what  I  want.  You  are  very  good  to  wish  for  me.  IS^ext  year  I  shall 
be  very  pleased  to  pay  you  a  visit." 

"Tlien  what  in  thj  world  will  you  do  in  the  winter?" 

"  Remain  where  I  am— I  mean  with  Miss  Payne— and  lookout  for 
a  house  for  myself. " 

"But,  my  dear,  you  are  much  too  young  to  live  alone." 

"  I  am  twenty -one  now  ;  I  shall  be"  twenty-two  by  the  time  I  am 
Bottled  in  a  hoiise  of  my  own.  And,  Ada,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a 
favor.    Lend  me  your  boys  to  complete  my  respectability." 


186  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"  What !  for  altogether  ?  Why,  Katherine,  you  will  marry, 
and-" 

"Well,  suppose  I  do,  that  need  not  prevent  my  having  the  comfort 
of  mv  nephews'  company  until  the  fatal  knot  is'tied." 

"  isow,  dear  Katherine,  do  tell  me— are  you  engaged  to  any  one? 
Not  a  foreigner  ?— anything  but  a  forei^-ner  !" 

"  At  present,"  said  Katherine,  with  some  solemnity,  "  I  am 
engagea  to  two  young  men." 

"  My  dear !  You  of  all  young  girls  !  I  am  astonished.  There  is 
nothing  so  deep,  after  all,  as  a  demure  young  woman.  I  suppose 
you  are  in  a  scrape,  and  want  Colonel  t)rmonde  to  help  you  out 
of  it?" 

•'  I  think  I  can  manage  my  own  affairs." 

"Don't  be  too  sure.  A  girl  with  money  like  you  is  just  the  subject 
for  a  breach-of -promise  case.    Do  I  know  either  of  these  men  /*" 

"Yes,  both.'^ 

"  Who  are  they  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  with  deepening  interest. 

"Cis  and  Charlie,"  returned  Katherine,  lauoi-hing. 

"I  really  cannot  see  anything  amusing  in  this  sort  of  stupid  mysti- 
fication," cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  in  a  huff. 

"Pray  forgive  me  ;  but  your  determination  to  marry  me  out  of 
hand  tempts  me  to  such  naughtiness.  However,  be  forgiving,  and 
lend  me  the  boys  till  next  spring.  They  might  go  to  Castleford  for 
Christmas." 

"  Oh  no,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Ormonde,  hastily.  "  I  forgot  to  men- 
tion that  Ormonde  has  almost  promised  to  spend  next  Christmas  in 
Pari.';.  It  is  such  a  nuisance  to  be  in  one's  own  place  at  Christmas  ; 
there  is  such  work  distributing  blankets  and  coals  and  things.  If 
one  is  away,  a  check  to  the  rector  settles  everything.  I  assure  you 
the  life  of  a  country  gentleman  is  not  all  pleasure." 

"  Then  you  will  let  me  have  the  boys  Y 

"  AVell,"dtar,  if  you  really  like  it,  I  do  not  see,  when  you  have 
such  a  fancy,  why  you  should  not  be  indulged." 

"  Thank  you.    And  I  may  choose  a  school  for  Cis  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  the  neither  Ormonde  nor  I  would  interfere  ;  just  now 
it  is  of  no  great  importance.  But — of  course — that  is— I  should  like 
some  allowance  for  mj^self  out  of  their  money." 

"  Of  course  you  should  have  whatever  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
receiving." 

After  this,  Mrs.  Ormonde  was  most  cordial  in  her  approbation  of 
everything  suggested  by  her  sist^r-in-laAv.  The  friendly  conversa- 
tion was  interrupted  by 'the  entrance  of  Cecil  with  his  satchel  over 
his  shoulder.    He  went  straight  to  his  young  aunt  and  hugged  her. 

"  Well,  Cis,  I  see  you  don't  care  for  mother  now,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Ormonde,  easily  moved  to  jealousy,  as  she  always  was. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do  !  only  you  don't  like  me  to  jump  on  vou,  and  auntie 
doesn't  mind  about  her  clothes."    And  he  ki.ssed  ner  heartily, 

"Do  you  want  to  come  back  to  Ca.stleford ?" 

"  What,  now?  when  the  holidays  begin  next  week?"— this  with  a 
meful  expression.  "  Why,  we  were  to  have  a  sailing  boat,  and  old 
Norris  tJie  sailor  and  his  boy  are  to  come  out  every  evening." 

"Then  you  don't  want  to  come?" 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  187 

'  "  Oh,  mayn't  we  stay  a  little  long-er,  mother  ?  It  is  so  nice 
here  !" 

"You  may  stay  as  lon^  as  your  aunt  cares  to  keep  you,  for  all  I 
care,"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  somewhat  spitefully. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  mother  dear— thank  you  !"  throwing"  his  arms 
round  her  neclc.  "  I'll  be  such  a  g-ood  boy  when  I  come  back  ;  but 
it  is  nice  here.  Then  you  have  baby,  and  he  does  not  worry  you 
as  much  as  we  do."  Katherine  thoug-ht  this  a  very  sig-niflcant 
reply. 

"There!  there!"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  diseng-aging  herself  from 
the  warm  clinging'  arms.  "Go  and  wash  your  hands;  they  are 
frightfully  dirty." 

"  It's  clean  ciirt,  mother.  I  stopped  on  the  beach  to  help  Tom 
Damer  to  build  up  a  sand  fort." 

"  Why  did  Miss  North  let  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  was  by  myself !  I  don't  want  amj  one  to  take  care  of 
me,"  said  Cecil,  proudly. 

"  Good  heavens  !  do  you  let  the  child  walk  about  alone  ?"  cried 
Mrs.  Ormonde,  with  an  air  of  surprise  and  indignation. 

"  Eun  away  to  Miss  North,"  said  Katherine,  and  as  Cecil  left  the 
room  she  replied :  "  As  Cecil  is  nfne  years  old,  Ada,  and  a  very 
bright  boy,  I  think  he  may  very  well  be  let  to  take  care  of  himself. 
The  school  is  not  far,  and  he  cannot  learn  independence  too  soon." 

"Perhaps  so.  But  of  course  you  know  better  than  I  do.  You 
were  always  more  learned,  and  all  that ;  besides,  you  are  not  over 
anxious,  as  a  mother  would  be." 

"Nor  careless  either,"  said  Katherine  thinking  of  the  nights  at 
CastJeford  when  she  used  to  steal  to  the  bedside,  of  little  feverish, 
restless  Charlie,  while  his  mother  kept  within  the  bounds  of  her  own 
luxurious  chamber. 

"No,  no  ;  certainly  not,"  returned  Mrs.  Ormonde,  remembering 
it  was  as  well  not  to  offend  so  strong  a  person  as  she  felt  Katherine 
to  be.  "  Only  Cecil  is  a  tiresome,  self-willed  boy,  and  very  likely  to 
get  into  mischief."  * 

"  If  you  wish  it,  Ada,  I  shall,  of  course,  have  him  escorted  to  and 
fro  to  school." 

"Oh,  just  as  you  like.  I  suppose  you  know  the  place  better  than 
I  do." 

"Colonel  Ormonde  has  never  come  down  to  see  me,"  resumed 
Katherine,  after  a  pause.     "  You  must  tell  him  I  am  quite  hurt." 

"  Well,  dear,  you  must  know  that  Duke  is  rather  vexed  with 
you," 

"  Vexed  with  me  !    Why?"  asked  Katherine,  opening  her  eyes. 

"  You  see,  he  thinks  you  ought  to  have  come  to  us  for  a  while  ; 
and  then  De  Bui*gh  came  back  from  this  last  time  in  such  a  bad  temper 
that  my  husband  thought  you  were  not  bchavino-  well  to  him— mak- 
ing a  fool  of  him,  in  short ;  inviting  him  down  here  to  amuse  your- 
self, and  then  refusing  him,  if  you  did  refuse," 

"  No,  I  did  not ;  for  Mr.  De  Burgh  never  gave  me  an  opportun- 
ity," cried  Katherine,  indignantly.  "  'Not  did  I  ever  ask  him  here. 
Icniniot  prevent  his  coming  and  lodging  at  the  hotel.  I  am  quite 
readv  to  talk  to  him,  because  he  amuses  me,  but  I  am  not  bound 


188  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

to  many  every  man  who  does.  Tell  Colonel  Ormonde  so,  with  my 
compliments. 

"  I  am  sure  /  don't  want  you  to  marry  De  Burg'h  !  Indeed,  I  am 
surprised  at  Duke ;  but  vou  see,  being-  chums  and  relations  (and 
men  stick  together  so),  tnat  he  only  thinks  of  De  Burg'h,  who,  entre 
nous,  has  been  awfully  fast.  He  is  amusing",  and  very  distingue, 
but  I  am  afraid  he  only  cares  for  your  money,  dear." 

"Very  likely,"  returned  Katherine,  with  much  comiX)sure. 

"  Then  auoth  n-  reason  why  tke  Colonel  docs  not  care  to  come  down 
is  that  he  has  a  g-reat  dislike  to  that  Miss  Payne.  S'lr  is  really 
hostess  here,  and  it  worries  Duke  to  have  to  be  civil  to  h  -r." 

"  Why?"  asked  Katherine.  "I  can  imag-ine  hi;r  bjiu.;-  an  object 
of  perfect  indifference  ;  but  dislike — no  !" 

"  Well,  dear,  men  never  like  that  sort  of  wom^n  ;— people,  you 
know,  who  eke  out  their  living'  by — doing'  things,  wlien  tncy  are 
plain  and  old.  Handsome  adventuresses  are  quite  another  affair — 
they  are  amusing  and  attractive." 

'*  How  absurd  and  unreasonable  !" 

"Yes,  of  course  ;  they  are  all  like  that.  Then  he  thinks  Miss 
Payne  has  a  bad  and  dan^^erous  influence  on  you.  He  disapproves 
of  \'our  living  on  with  her,  for  you  don't  take  the  position  you 
oujht,  and—"' 

Katherine  laughed  good-humoredly  as  Mrs.  Ormonde  paused, 
not  knowing  very  well  how  to  finish  her  speech.  "Colonel  Or- 
monde will  hide  the  light  of  his  countenance  from  me,  then,  I  am 
afraid,  for  a  long  time  ;  for  I  like  Miss  Payne,  and  I  am  going  to  stay 
with  her  for  the  period  agreed  upon  ;  and  I  will  not  marry  Mr.  ife 
Burgh,  nor  will  I  let  him  ask  me  to  do  so,  for  there  is  a  d;\gree  of 
honesty  about  him  which  I  like.  You  may  repeat  all  tJiIs  to  your 
husband,  Ada,  and  add  that  but;  for  a  lucky  chance  his  wife  and 
myself  Avould  have  been  among'  the  sort  of  women  who  eke  out 
their  living  by  doing  things.  I  don't  think  I  should  be  afraid  of 
attempting  self-support  if  all  my  money  were  swept  away." 

"  Dont  talk  of  such  a  thing  !"  cried  "^Mrs.  Ormonde,  turning  pale. 
"Thank  God  what  you  have  settled  on  the  boys  is  safe  !" 

Katherine's  half-contemptuous  good  humor  carried  her  serenely 
throuo-h  this  rather  irritating  visit,  but  the  totally  diiforent  train  of 
thoug-tit  which  it  evoked  assisted  her  to  recover  h  'rorlii.arv  mental 
tone.  It  Avas,  however,  touched  by  a  minor  key  of  sadn-ss,  of  hu- 
mility (save  when  roused  by  any  moving  cause  to  indignation), 
which  gave  tlie  charm  of  soft  pensiveness  to  her  manner. 

Mrs.  Ormonde  was  rather  in  a  hurry  to  go  back  to  town,  as  she 
bad  important  interviews  impending  with  milliner  and  dressmaker 
prior  to  a  visit  to  Ladv  Maiy  Vincent  at  Cowts,  from  which  she 
expected  the  most  brilliant  results,  for  (lie  little  women's  social 
amVntion  grew  with  what  it  fed  upon.  Nor  did  the  rational  repose 
of  Katherine's  life  suit  her.  Books,  music,  out-door  existence,  were 
a  weariness,  and  in  spite  of  her  loudly  declared  atVection  for  her 
sister-in-law  slxe  found  a  curious  nistraint  in  conversing  with  her. 

TJiey  ]^>artod,  tlierefore,  with  many  kind  expressions  and  much 
satisfaction. 

"Iwill  write  you   an  account  of  all  our  doings  ar  Cowes.    I 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  189 

expect  it  will  be  very  ga,Y  and  pleasant  there.  How  I  wish  you 
were  to  be  of  the  party,  instead  of  moping*  here  !"  said  Mrs. 
Ormonde. 

"  Thank  you.  I  should  like  it  all,  no  doubt,  but  not  just  now.  I 
will  keep  you  informed  of  our  small  doings." 

So  Mrs.  "Ormonde  steamed  on  her  way  rejoicing",  and  Katherine 
re-entered  a  pretty  low  pony-carriao"e  in  which  she  drove  a  pair  of 
quiet,  well-broken  ponies,  selected  for  her  b}'  Bertie  Payne,  whose 
conversion  had  not  obliterated  his  carnal  knowledge  of  horseflesh. 
A  small  groom  always  accompanied  her,  for  though  improved  by 
the  practice  of  driving,  she  did  not  like  to  be  alone  with  her  steetls. 

She  had  nearly  reached  the  chief  street  of  Sandbourne,  when  a 
tall  gentleman  in  yachting  dress  strolled  slowly  round  the  corner  of 
a  lane  which  led  to  the  beach.  He  paused  and"  raised  his  hat.  She 
recognized  De  Burgh  and  drew  up. 

"  And  so  you  are  driving  in  capital  style,"  was  his  greeting" ;  "  all 
by  yourself,  too.    Will  you  give  me  a  lift  back?" 

"Certainly.    Where  have  you  come  from?" 

"Melford's  yacht.  I  escorted  my  revered  relative,  old  De  Burgh, 
down  to  Cowes.  He  has  a  little  villa  there.  As  he  has  grown  quite 
civil  of  late,  I  think  it  right  to  encourage  him.  Melford  was  there, 
and  invited  me  to  take  a  short  cruise.  So  J  made  him  land  me  here 
lUst  now.  The  yacht  is  still  in  the  offing.  Lady  Alice  was  on 
Doard." 

" Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Katherine,  with  much  interest.  "How  is 
she?" 

"So  far  as  one  can  judge  from  the  exterior,  remarkably  well,  and 
exactly  the  same  as  ever.  It  is  rather  funny,  but  they  hail  Renshaw 
on  board  too,  the  son  of  the  big  brewer  who  has  bought,  or  is  going  to 
buy,  Errington's  house  in  Berkeley  Square.  I  fancy  it  is  not  imjwss- 
ible  he  may  come  in  for  Errington's  ex-jiancee  as  well  as  his  ex-resi- 
dence." 

"  It  cannot  be,  surely  !"  cried  Katherine,  flushing  with  a  curious 
feeling. 

"Why  not?  I  don't  say  immediately.  I  have  no  doubt  every- 
thing will  be  done  decently  and  in  order." 

"Well,  it  is  incomprehensible." 

"  Not  to  me.  What  can—  (Make  that  little  brute  on  the  off  side 
keep  up  to  the  collar.  You  want  a  few  lessons  from  ma  still.) 
What  can  a  girl  like  Lady  Alice  do?  She  is  an  earl's  daughter. 
She  cannot  dig  ;  to  beg  she  is  ashamed  ;  she  must  therefore  take  to 
herself  a  husband  from  the  mammon  of  unaristoci*alic  money- 
grubbers." 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  her  again— poor  Lady  Alice  !"  said  Kath- 
erine, more  to  herself  than  to  her  companion. 

"I  think  you  are  wasting  your  commiseration,"  he  returned. 
"She  seems  quite  happy." 

"She  may  be  successful  in  hiding  her  feelings." 

De  Burgh  laughed.  "Tell  me,"  he  asked,  "  do  you  really  think 
Errington  is  the  sort  of  fellow  women  break  their  hearts  about?" 

"  I  cannot  tell.    He  seems  to  me  very  good  and  very  nice." 

"That  is  a  goody-goody  description.    Well  done  !"— as  Kathcrino 


190  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

gfuided  her  ponies  successfully  through  the  g'ate  of  her  abode  and 
turned  them  round  the  gravel  sweep.  "  I  must  say  you  have  a 
pretty  little  nook  here." 

"flad  you  arrived  an  hour  sooner  you  -would  have  seen  Mrs.  Or- 
monde. I  have  just  seen  her  off  by  the  12.30  train.  She  has  been 
paying  us  a  farewell  visit,  and  is  gone  to  Lady  Mary  Vincent." 

"  Indeed  !  She  will  have  her  cup  of  pleasure  running"  over  there  ; 
they  live  in  a  flutter  of  gayety  all  day  long." 

Here  De  Burgh  sprang  to  the  ground  and  assisted  Katherine  to 
alight. 

"  Will  you  lunch  with  us?"  she  asked,  an  additional  tinge  of  color 
mounting  to  her  cheek  ;  for  she  knew  De  Bur^h  was  no  favorite  of 
Miss  Pa^-ne,  who  was  no  doubt  rejoicing  at  the  pro.spect  of  repose 
and  deliverance  from  their  late  guest,  who  generally  managed  to 
rub  her  hostess  the  wrong  Avay. 
"  You  are  very  kind.  I  shall  be  delighted." 
While  Katherine  went  ostensiblv  to  put  aside  her  hat— really  to 
warn  Miss  Payne— De  Burgh  strolled  into  the  drawing-room.  How 
cool  and  fresh'and  sweet  with  abundant  flowers  it  was  !  An  air  of 
reflned  homeliness  about  it,  the  work  and  books  and  music  on  the 
open  piano,  spoke  of  well-occupied  repose.  Its  simplicity  was  grace- 
ful, and  indicated  the  presence  of  a  cultured  woman. 

De  Burgh  wandered  to  the  window — a  wide  bay — and  took  from  a 
table  which  stood  in  it  a  cabinet  photograph  of  Katherine,  taken 
about  a  year  before.  He  was  absorbed  in  contemplating  it  when 
she  came  in,  and  he  made  a  step  to  meet  her.  "  This  is  very  good," 
he  said.  "  Where  was  it  taken  ?" 
"In  Florence." 

"It  is  like"— looking  intently  at  her,  and  then  at  the  picture. 
"But  you  are  changed  in  some  indescribable  way,  chaii""ed  since  I 
saw  you  last,  years  ago— that  is,  a  month— isn't  it  a  montn  since  you 
drove  me  from  paradise? — but  doh  don't  remember." 

"  But,  Mr.  De  Burgh,  I  did  not  drive  you  away.  You  got  bored, 
and  went  away  of  your  own  free-will." 

"  I  shall  not  argue  the  point  with  you — not  now;  but  tell  me," 
with  a  very  steady  gaze  into  her  eyes,  "  has  an^-thing  happened 
since  I  left  to  waken  up  your  soul  ?"  It  was  by  no  means  asl(!op 
when  I  saw  you  last,  but  it  has  met  with  an  eye-opener  of  some  kind, 
I  am  convinced." 

"I  should  not  have  given  you  credit  for  so  much  imagination, 
Mr.  De  Burgh." 

Here  Miss  Payne  made  her  appearance,  and  the  boys  followed. 
They  were  treated  with  unusual  good-humor  and  bonhomie  by  De 
Burgh,  who  actually  took  Charlie  on  his  knee  and  asked  him  some 
questions  about  boating,  which  occupied  them  till  lunch  was  an- 
nounci'd. 

Miss  Payne  was  too  much  accustomed  to  vield  to  circumstances 
not  to  accept  De  Burgh's  attempts  to  be  amiable  and  agreeable.  He 
could  be  amusin"- when  he  chose;  there  was  an  odd  abruptnes.s,  a 
candid  avowal  of  his  views  and  opinions,  when  he  was  in  the  mood, 
that  attracted  Katherine. 
"  You  are  a  funny  man  !"  said  Cecil,  after  gazing  at  him  in  silence 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  191 

as  he  finished  his  repast.    "I  wish  you  would  come  out  in  the  boat 
with  us.    Auntie  said  we  might  go." 
"  Very  well ;  ask  her  if  I  may  come." 
"He  may,  mayn't  he?"— chorus  from  both  boys. 
"Yes,  if  you  really  care  to  come  ;  but  do  not  let  the  children  tease 
you." 

"Do  you  give  me  credit  for  being  ready  to  do  what  I  don't 
like?" 
"I  can't  say  I  do." 

"  When  do  you  start  on  this  expedition?" 

"  About  seven,  which  will  interfere  with  your  dinner,  for  Miss 
Paj^ne  and  I  have  adopted  primitive  habits,  and  do  not  dine  late ; 
we  indulge  in  high  tea  instead." 

"Nevertheless,  I  shall  meet  you  at  the  jettj'.    Till  then  adieu." 
•'  May  we  come  with  you?"  cried  the  boys  together— "just  as  far 
as  the  hotel?" 

"  No,  dears  :  you  must  stay  at  home,"  said  Katherine,  decidedly. 
"Then  do  let  him  come  and  see  how  the  puppy  is.    He  has  grown 
quite  big." 

"  Yes,  I'll  come  round  to  the  kennel  if  you'll  show  me  the  way," 
replied  De  Burgh,  with  a  smiling  glance  at  Katherine.  "Till  this 
evening,  then,"  he  add(>,d,  and  bowing  to  Miss  Payne,  left  the  room, 
the  boys  capering  beside  him. 

"I should  say  that  man  has  breakfasted  on  honey  this  morning," 
observed  Miss  Payne,  with  a  sardonic  smile.  "  Does  he  think  that 
he  has  only  to  come,  to  see,  and  to  conquer?" 

"  He  has  been  quite  pleasant,"  said  Katlierine.  "  I  wonder  why 
he  is  not  alwavs  nice?  He  used  to  be  almost  rude  at  Castleford 
sometimes."  She  paused,  while  Miss  Payne  rose  from  the  table  and 
began  to  lock  away  the  wine.  "I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Mr. 
Payne?    He  has  not  been  here  for  a  long  time." 

'"  What  made  you  think  of  him?"  asked  his  sister,  sharply. 
"  I  suppose  the  force  of  contra.st  reminded  me  of  him.  What  a 
difference  between  Bertie  and  Mi'.  De  Burgh  !— your  brother  living 
only  to  help  others,  and  utterly  forgetful  of  self  ;  he  regardless  of 
everything  but  the  gratification  of  his  own  fancies— at  least  so  far 
as  we  can  see.' 

"Yes  ;  Mr.  De  Burgh  can  hardly  be  termed  a  true  Christian. 
Still,  Gilbert  is  rather  too  weak  and  credulous.  I  su.spect  he  is  very 
often  taken  in." 

"Is  it  not  better  he  should  be  sometimes,  dear  Miss  Payne, 
than  that  some  poor  deserving  creature  should  perish  for  want  of 
help?" 

"Well,  I  don't  kno^-  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of 
nature,  and  if  that  law  were  more  carefully  obeyed,  fewer  would 
need  help." 

"  Life  is  an  unsolvable  problem,"  said  Katherine,  and  the  remark 
reminded  her  of  her  humble  friend  Rachel.  She  therefore  sat  down 
and  wrote  her  a   kind,    sympathetic   letter,    feeling   some   com- 

{junction  for  having  allowed  so  long  an  interval  to  elapse  since  her 
ast. 
Her  own  troubles  bad  occupied  her  too  much.    Now  that  time  was 


192  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

beginning  to  accustom  her  to  their  weight,  her  deep  interest  in 
Rachel  revived  even  with  more  than  its  original  force.  Kather- 
ine  did  not  make  intimates  readily.  Let  there  be  ever  so  small  a 
nook  in  the  mind,  ever  so  tiny  au  incident  in  the  past,  which  must 
be  hidden  from  all  eyes,  and  'th(:;re  can  be  no  free  pass  for  outsiders, 
however  dear  or  valued,  to  the  sanctum  of  the  heart,  which  must 
remain  sealed,  a  whispering  gallery  for  its  own  memories  and 
aspiralions.  But  Rachel  Trant  never  dreamed  of  receiving  confi- 
dence, nor,  after  once  having  strung  herself  up  to  tell  her  sad  story, 
did  she  allude  to  her  bitter  past,  save  b^v  an  occasional  word  ex- 
pressing her  profound  sense  of  the  new  life  she  owed  to  Katherine  ; 
nor  did  the  latter,  when  talking  with  her  face  to  face,  ever  realize 
that  there  was  any  social  difference  between  them.  Rachel's  voice, 
maimer,  diction,  "and  natural  relinement  were  what  might  be  ex- 
pected from  a  gentlewoman,  only  that  through  all  sounded  a  strain 
of  harsh  strength,  the  echo  of  tliat  fierce  despair  from  whose  grip 
the  tender  consideration  of  her  new  friend  had  delivered  her.  The 
evening's  sail  was  very  tranquil  and  soothing.  De  Burgh  was 
agreeable  in  the  best  way  ;  that  is,  he  was  sympathetically  silent, 
except  when  Katherine  spoke  to  him.  The  boys  and  their  govern- 
ess sat  together  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  where  they  talked  merrily 
together,  occasionally  running  aft  to  ask  more  profound  questions 
of  De  Burgh  and  auntie.  Fear  of  rheumatism  and  discomfort 
generally  kept  Miss  Payne  at  home  on  these  occasions. 

De  Burgh  walked  with  Miss  Liddell  to  her  own  door,  but  wisely 
refused  to  enter.  "No,"  he  mused,  as  he  proceeded  to  his  hotel; 
"  I  have  had  enough  of  a,  ■'irjiiturle  a  /roV.  It's  an  uncomfortable, 
tantalizing  thing,  and  though  I  have  been  positively  angelic  for  the 
last  seven  or  eight  hours,  I  can't  stand  any  more  intercourse  under 
Miss  Payne's  paralyzing  optics.  I  wonder  if  any  fellow  can  keep 
up  a  heavenly  calm  for  more  than  twenty -four  hours?  Depends  on 
the  circulation  of  the  blood.  I  wonder  still  more  if  it  is  po.ssible 
that  Katherine  is  more  disposed  to  like  me  than  she  was  ?  She  is 
somehow  different  than  when  I  was  here  last.  So  divinely  soft  and 
kind  !  I  have  known  a  score  or  two  of  fascinating  women,  and 
gone  wild  about  a  good  many,  but  this  is  different.  Whv  the  deuce 
should  she  not  love  me?  Most  of  the  others  did.  Why?  God 
knows.    I'll  try  my  luck  ;  she  seems  in  a  propitious  mood." 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"NO." 

Next  liorning's  post  brought  a  letter  from  Bertie,  which  was  a, 
kind  of  complement  to  Katherine's  reflections  of  the  night  before. 
After  explaining  that  he  had  hitherto  bean  unable  to  take  a  holiday 
from  his  various  avocations,  he  promised  to  spend  the  following  week 
with  his  sister  and  Miss  Liddell.  He  then  described  the  success  of 
Mrs.  Needham's  bazar,  and  proceeded  thus  : 

"  Meeting  my  old  friend  Mrs.  Dodd  a  few  days  ago,  I  was  sorry  to 


J'\^  "  A  CROOKED  PATH.  193 

find  from  her  that  yoitr  favorite,  Rachel  Trant,  had  been  very  unwell. 
She  had  had  a  great  deal  of  work,  thanks  to  your  kind  efforts  on  her 
bohalf,  and  sat  at  it  early  and  late  ;  then  she  took  cold.  I  went  to 
see  her,  and  found  her  in  a  state  of  extreme  depression,  like  that  from 
which  you  succeeded  in  rousing-  her.  I  think  it  would  be  well  if  she 
could  have  a  little  chang-e.  Are  there  any  cheap,  humble  lodging's 
at  Sandbourne,  where  she  mig-ht  pass  a  week  or  two?  I  shall  pass 
this  matter  in  your  hands." 

"I  am  sure  old  Norris's  wife  would  take  her  in.  They  have  a 
nice  cottag-e,  almost  on  the  beach,  close  to  the  point." 

"No  doubt.  Really  that  Rachel  of  yours  is  in  great  luck.  I 
wonder  how  many  poor  girls  in  London  are  dying  for  a  breath 
of  sea-air?" 

."  Ah,  hundreds,  I  fear.  But  then,  you  see,  they  have  not  been 
brought  under  my  notice,  and  Rachel  has  ;  so  I  will  do  the  best  I  can 
for  her.    I  am  sure  she  is  no  common  woman." 

"  At  all  events  she  has  no  common  luck." 

Katherine  lost  no  time  in  visiting  Mrs.  Norris,  and  found  that  she 
was  in  the  habit  of  letting  a  large,  low,  but  comfortable  room  up- 
stairs, where  the  bed  was  gorgeous  with  a  patchwork  quilt  of  many 
colors,  and  permitting  her  lodgers  to  dine  in  a  small  parlor,  which 
was  her  own  sitting-room. 

The  old  woman  had  not  had  any  "  chance  "  that  season,  as  she 
termed  it,  and  gladly  agreed  to  take  the  young  person  recommend- 
ed by  her  husband's  liberal  employer.  So  Katherine  walked  back 
to  write  both  to  Bertie  and  their  profec/re. 

During  her  abs:?nce  De  Burgh  had  called,  but  left  no  message. 
And  Katherine  felt  a  little  sorry  to  have  missed  him,  as  she  thought 
it  probable  he  would  go  on  to  town  that  afternoon,  and  she  wanted 
to  hear  some  tidings  of  Errington,  yet  could  hardly  nerve  herself  to 
ask. 

The  evening  was  glorioiv^^ly  fine,  and  as  Miss  Payne  did  not  like 
boating,  the  pony -carriage  was  given  up  to  hsr,  the  boys,  and  Miss 
North  the  governess,  for  along  drive  to  a  farm-house  where  the 
boys  enjoyed  rambling  about,  and  Miss  Payne  bought  new-laid 
eggs. 

When  they  had  set  out,  Katherine  took  a  white  woolen  shawl  over 
her  arm  -  for  even  in  July  tiie  breeze  was  sometimes  chill  at  sun- 
down —and  strolled  along  tlie  road,  or  rather  cart  track,  which  led 
between  the  cliffs  and  the  sea  to  the  boatman's  cottage.  She  passed 
this,  nodding  pleasantly  to  the  s'urdy  old  man,  who  was  busy  in 
his  cabbage  garden,  and  pursued  a  path  which  led  as  far  as  a  foot- 
ing could  be  found,  to  where  the  sea  Avashed  against  the  point.  It 
was  a  favorite  spot  with  Katherine,  who  was  tolerably  sure  of  beings 
undisturbed  here.  The  view  across  the  bay  was  tranquilly  beauti- 
ful ;  the  older  part  of  Sandbourne  only,  with  the  pretty  old  "inn,  was 
visible  from  her  rocky  seat  among  the  bowlders  and"  debris  which 
had  fallen  from  above,  while  the  old  tower  at  the  opposite  point  of 
the  bay  stood  out  black  and  solid  against  the  flood  of  golden  light 
behind  it.  Sh  ;  s;it  there  very  still,  enjoying  the  air,  the  scene,  the 
sweet  salt  breath  oc  the  sea,  thinking  iiit.'Jitly  of  Rachel  Trant's  ex- 
perience, of  Uer  fatal  weakness,  of  the  uupit^ing  severity  or  that 


194  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

rule  of  law  under  which  we  social  atoms  are  constrained  to  live  ;  of 
the  evident  fact  that  were  we  but  wise  and  g'ood  we  might  always 
be  the  beneficent  arbiters  of  our  own  fate  ;  that  there  are  few  plea- 
sures which  have  not  their  price  ;  and  after  all,  thoug-h  she,  Ivath- 
erine,  had  paid  hig'h  for  hers,  it  had  not  cost  too  much,  considering" 
she  had  been  groping- in  the  dimness  of  imperfect  knowledge.  Oh, 
how  she  wished  she  had  never  attempted  to  act  providence  to  her 
mother  and  herself,  but  trusted  to  Errington's  sense  of  generosity 
and  justice  !  Of  course  it  would  have  been  humiliating  to  beg  from 
a  stranger,  yet  before  that  stranger  she  had  been  compelled  to  lower 
herself  to  the  dust,  and — 

The  unwonted  sound  of  approaching  feet  startled  her.  She  turned, 
to  see  De  Burgh  within  spKiaking  distance.  "I  am  like  Robinson 
Crusoe  in  my  solitiide  here,"  she  said,  smiling.  '*I  turn  pale  at  the 
sound  of  an  unexpected  step,  as  he  did  at  the  print  of  Friday's 
foot." 

"  And  to  continue  the  smile,"  he  returned,  leaning  against  a  rock 
near  her,  "  the  footprint  or  step,  as  in  Crusoe's  case,  only  announces 
the  advent  of  a  devoted  slave. ''*  He  spoke  lightly,  and  Katherine 
scarce  noticed  what  seemed  to  her  an  idle  compliment. 

"  I  fancied  you  had  gone  to  town,"  she  said. 

"No  ;  I  am  not  going  to  town  ;  I  don't  know  or  care  where  I  am 

going.  Some  kind  friends  might  say  I  am  on  my  way  to  the 
ogs." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Katherine,  gravely,  "I  imagine,  Mr.  De 
Burgh,  that  if  you  had  some  object  of  ambition — " 

"I  should  become  an  Admirable  Crichton?  I  don't  think  so. 
There  are  such  dreary  pauses  in  the  current  of  all  careers  !" 

"  Of  course.    You  would  not  live  in  a  tornado  !" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure" — laughing.  "  At  all  events  I  shall  never  be 
satisfied  with  still  life  like  our  friend  Errington." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  him  ?  Mrs.  Ormonde  never  mentions 
his  name." 

"  Of  course  not ;  when  a  fellow  cant  keep  pace  with  his  peers,  away 
with  him.  crucify  him." 

"  As  long  as  a  few  special  friends  are  true " 

"If  they  are,"  interrupted  De  Burgh  ;  and  Katherine  did  not 
resume,  hoping  he  would  continue  the  theme,  which  he  did,  saying: 
"He  has  left  his  big  house,  gone  into  chambers  somewhere,  ard  has 
I  believe,  taken  up  literatur>j,  politics,  and  social  subjects.  So 
Lady  Marv  Vincent  says.  I  fancy  he  is  a  clever  fellow  in  a  cast- 
iron  style. ' 

' '  What  a  change  for  him !" 

"  I  believe  there  was  something  coming  to  him  out  of  the  wreck, 
and  1  think  he  is  a  sort  of  man  who  will  float.  I  never  liked  him 
mvself,  chiefly,  1  fancy,  because  I  knoAv  he  doesn't  like  me.  Indeed, 
I  ^on't  care  for  people  in  general."  There  was  a  pause,  during 
which  Katherine  glanced  at  her  companion,  and  was  struck  by  his 
sombre  expression,  the  stern  compression  of  his  lips. 

"  ltd  you  call  at  the  cottage?"  she  asked. 

"No  ;  you  were  out  this  morning,  and  I  did  not  like  to  intrude 
iigaini"  he  laug-hed.    ' '  Growing  modest  in  my  ser«  and  yellow  days, 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  195 

you  see ;  so  I  thoiig-ht  T  should  perhaps  find  vou  here,  as  I  saw  vour 
numerous  party  drive  past  the  hotel."  ' 

"I  like  this  corner,  and  often  come  here.  But,  Mr.  De  Burg-h  you 
look  as  if  the  times  were  out  of  joint." 

"  So  they  are  "—suddenly  seating-  himself  on  a  flat  stone  nearly  at 
Katherine  s  feet,  leaning-  his  elbow  on  another,  and  resting-  his  head 
on  his  hand,  so  as  to  look  up  easily  in  her  face. 

"  "What  g-loomy  dark  eyes  he  has  !"  she  thoug-ht. 

"I  should  like  to  tell  you  why," he  went  on. 

"Very  well,"  returned  Katherine,  who  felt  a  little  uneasv 

"I  am  pretty  considerably  in  debt,  to  beg-in  with.  If  I  paid  up  I 
should  have  about  three  halfpence  a  year  to  live  on.  Besides  mv 
debts  I  have  an  unconscionably  ancient  relative  whose  title  and  a 
beg-g-arly  five  thousand  a  year  must  come  to  me  when  he  dies,  if  he 
ever  dies.  This  venerable  imix^diment  has  some  hundred  or  more 
thousands  which  he  can  bequeath  to  whom  he  likes.  Hitherto  he 
has  not  considered  me  a  credit  to  the  family.  Well,  I  went  to  him 
the  other  day,  on  his  own  invitation,  and  to  ray  amazement  he  offered 
to  p<iy  my  debts— on  one  condition." 

"1  do  hope  he  will,"  cried  Katherine,  as  De  Burg-h  paused. 
She  was  quite  interested  and  relieved  by  the  tone  of  his  nar- 
rative. 

"  Ay,  but  there's  the  rub.  I  can't  fulfil  the  condition,  I  fear.  It 
is  that  I  should  marry  a  woman  rich  enough  to  replace  the  money 
my  debts  will  absorb  ;  a  particular  woman  who  doesn't  care  for  me, 
and  whom,  knowing-  the  hideous  tang-le  of  motives  that  hang-s  round 
the  central  idea  of  winning  her,  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  ask  ;  but  a 
woman  that  any  man  mig-ht  court ;  a  woman  I  have  loved  from  the 
first  moment  my  eyes  met  hers,  who  has  haunted  and  distracted  me 
ever  since,  and  who  is,  I  dare  say,  a  great  deal  too  g-ood  for  me  ;  but  a 
creature  I  will  strive  to  win,  no  matter  what  the  cost  of  success. 
This  g-irl,  or  rather  (for  there  is  a  richness  and  ripeness  of  nature 
about  her  which  deserves  the  term)  this  fair,  sweet  woman— I  need 
not  name  her  to  you."  He  stopped,  and  his  passionate  pleading 
eyes  held  hers.  Katherine  g-rew  white,  half  with  fear, 
half  with  sincere  compassion.  She  tried  to  speak.  At  last  the  words 
came. 

"You  make  me  terribly  sad,  Mr  De  Burgh,"  she  said,  with 
trembling  lips.  "  You  make  me  fo  sorry  that  J  cannot  marry  you  - 
but  I  cannot— indeed  I  cannot.  Will  Lord  De  Burgh  not  pay  your 
debts  if  he  knows  you  have  done  your  best  to  persuade  me  to  marry 
you?" 

De  Burgh  laughed  a  cynical  laugh.  *'  You  are  infinitely  practical, 
Katherine.  (I  am  going  to  call  you  Katherine  for  the  next  few 
minutes.  Because  I  think  of  you  "as  Katherine,  I  love  to  speak  your 
name  to  vourself  ;  it  seems  to  brin<?  me  a  little  nearer  to  you.)  Listen 
to  me.  Don't  you  think  you  could  endure  me  as  a  husftand  ?  I  am 
abetter  fellow 'than  I  seem,  and  mine  is  no  foolish  boy's  fancy.  I 
am  a  better  man  when  I  am  near  you.  Then  this  old  cousin  of  mine 
will  leave  me  all  he  possesses  if  you  are  my  wife,  and  the  Baroness 
de  Burgh,  with  money  enough  to  keep  her  place  among  her  peers, 
would  have  no  mean  position'  ,  nor  is  a  husband  passionately  devoted 
to  you  unworthy  of  consideration." 


196  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"It  is  not  indeed.  But,  Mr.  De  Burgh,  do  you  honestly  think  that 
devotion  would  last  ?  These  violent  feeling's*  often  work  their  own 
destruction." 

"Ay  :  God  knows  they  do,  amazing^ly  fast,"  he  returned,  with  a 
sigh  and  a  far-away  look.  "But  what  you  say  applies  to  all  men. 
If  you  ever  marry  you  must  run  the  risk  of  inconstancy  in  the  man 
you  accept.  I  am  at  least  old  enough  and  experienced  enough  to 
Value  a  good  woman  when  I  have  found  one,  especially  wlien  she 
does  not  make  her  goodness  a  bore.  And  you — you  have  inspired 
me  with  something  dilterent  from  anything  I  have  ever  felt  before. 
Yes,  yes,"  he  went  on,  angrily,  as  he  noticed  a  slight  smile  on  her 
lips.  "  I  see  you  try  to  treat  this  as  only  the  stereotype  talk  of  a 
lover  who  wants  your  money  more  than  yourself  ;  but  if  you  listen 
to  the  judgment  of  your  own  heart,  it  is  true  and  honest  enough  to 
recognize  truth  in  another,  and  it  will  tell  vou  that,  whatever  my 
faults  (and  they  are  legion),  sneaking  and  duplicity  are  not  among 
them.  It  is  quite  true  that  when  first  1  heard  of  you  I  thought  your 
fortune  would  be  just  the  thing  to  put  me  right,  as  I  have  no  doubt 
my  dear  friend  Mrs.  Ormonde  has  impressed  upon  you,  but  from  the 
moment  I  first  spoke  to  you  I  felt,  I  knew,  there  was  something 
about  you  different  from  other  women.  1  also  knew  that  in  the  e.Tort 
to  win  the  heiress  I  was  heavily  handicapped  by  the  sudden  strong 
passion  for  the  woman  which  seized  me." 

"  That  surely  ou^ht  to  have  been  a  means  of  success?"  said  Kath- 
arine, a  good  deal  interested  in  his  account  of  himself. 

"No:  it  made  me,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  hesitating,  self- 
distrustful,  and  awfully  disgusted  at  having  to  take  your  money  into 
consideration.  Had  you  been  an  ordinary  woman,  ready  to  exchange 
vour  fortune  for  the  social  position  1  could  give  my  wife,  and  per- 
taps  with  a  certain  degree  of  liking  for  the  kind  of  free-lance  repu- 
tation I  am  told  I  possess,  1  should  have  carried  my  point,  and 
presented  the  future  Baroness  de  Burgh  to  my  venerable  kinsman 
months  ago." 

"And  suppose  the  unfortunate  heiress  had  been  a  soft-hearted, 
simple  girl  i'  said  iiatherine,  with  a  slight  faltering  in  her  tones. 
"Suppose  she  were  credulous,  loving,  attracted  by  you— you  are 
probably  attractive  to  some  women— and  married  you  believing  in 
your  disinterested  affection?" 

De  Burgh,  who  had  risen  from  half-recumbent  position,  and  stood 
leaning  against  a  larger  fragment  of  rock,  paused  before  he  replied: 
"I  think  that  I  am  a  gentleman  enough  not  to  be  a  15)rute,  but  I 
rather  believe  a  woman  of  the  type  you  describe  would  not  have  a 
blLssful  existence  with  me." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  You  are  quite  capable  of  makino-  the 
life  of  such  a  woman  too  dreadful  to  think  of."  She  shuddered 
slightly. 

De  Burgh  looked  curiously  at  her.  "If  you  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  undertake  my  punishment,"  he  said,  "by  marrying  me 
without  love,  and  letting  me  prove  how  earnestly  I  could  serve  you 
and  strive  to  win  it,  I'll  strike  the  bargain  this  moment.  I  have 
been  reckless  and  unfortunate.  Now  give  me  a  chance ;  for  I  do 
love  you,  Katherine.  I'd  love  you  if  you  were  the  humblest  of  un- 
dowered women." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  197 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  for  the  passion  and  feeling  in  his  voice 
struck  home  to  her. 

"  I  believe  it,"  she  said,  softly,  "  and  I  am  almost  sorry  I  cannot 
love  you.  But  I  do  not,  nor  do  I  think  I  ever  could.  You  will  find 
others  quite  as  likely  to  draw  forth  your  affection  as  I  am.  But 
there  are  some  natural  barriers  of  disposition,  and— oh,  I  cannot 
da^ne  what— which  hold^us  apart.  Yet  I  am  interested  in  3^ou,  and 
would  like  to  know  you  were  happy.  Yet,  Mr.  De  Burg-h,  I  must 
not  sacrifice  ray  life  to  you.  If  I  did,  the  result  might  not  be  satis- 
factory even  to  yourself." 

' '  Sacrifice  your  life  !  What  an  unflattering-  expression !"  cried  De 
Burg-h,  with  a  hard  laugh.     "  So  there  is  no  nope  for  me?" 

Katharine  shook  her  head. 

"I  felt  there  Avas  but  lictle  when  I  beg-an,''  he  said,  as  if  to  himself. 
"Tell  me,  are  you  free?  Has  some  more  fortunate  fellow  than  myself 
touched  that  impreg-nable  heart  of  yours  ?  1  know  I  have  no  right 
to  ask  such  a  question." 

"You  have  not  indeed,  Mr.  De  Burgh.  And  if  I  could  not  with 
truth  say  '  no,'  I  should  be  vexed  with  you  for  asking  it.  Weighted 
as  I  am  with  money  enough  to  excite  the  greed  of  ordinary  struggling 
men,  I  shall  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  renounce  my  comfortable  indepen- 
dence. " 

De  Burgh's  eyes  again  held  hers  with  a  look  of  entreaty.  "  That 
independence  will  last  just  as  long  as  your  heart  escapes  the 
influence  of  the  man  whom  you  will  love  one  day  ;  for  though  love 
lies  sleeping,  it  is  in  you,  and  will  spring  to  life  some  time,  all  the 
stronger  and  more  irresistible  because  his  birth  has  not  come  early. 
Then  you  will  feel  more  for  me  than  you  do  now." 

"  I  do  feel  for  you,  Mr.  De  Burgh  "—raising  her  moist  eyes  to 
his. 

"Thank  you"— taking  her  hand  and  kissing  it.  "  Will  you,  then 
be  my  friend,  and  promise  not  to  banish  me  ?  I'll  be  sensible,  and 
give  you  no  trouble." 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly, "  said  Katherine,  glad  to  be  able  to  comfort  him 
in  any  way  ;  and  she  withdrew  her  hand. 

"I  am  not  going  to  worry  you  with  my  presence  now,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  snail  say  g-ood-by  for  the  present.  I  am  going  away 
north.  I  have  entered  a  norse  for  a  big  steeple-chase  at  Barton  Towers, 
and  will  ride  him  myself.  If  1  win  I  can  hold  out  awhile  longer. 
You  must  wish  me  success." 

"  1  am  sure  I  do,  heartily.    After  this,  do  give  up  racing." 

"  Very  well.  But  "—pressing  her  hand  hard—"  I'll  tell  you  what 
1  will  iwt  give  up,  my  hope  of  winning  you,  until  you  are  married  to 
some  one  else  and  out  of  my  reach." 

He  kissed  her  hand  again,  and  then,  without  any  further  adieu, 
turned  away,  walking  with  long  swift  steps  toward  the  town,  not 
once  looking  back. 

"  Thank  God  he  is  gone  !"  was  Katherinc's  mental  exclamation  as 
the  sound  of  his  footfall  died  away.  She  was  troubled  by  his 
intensity  and  determination,  and  touched  by  his  unmistakable  sin- 
cerity. "  If  I  loved  him  I  should  not  be  afraid  to  marry  him.  I 
think  h«  might  possibly  make  a  good  husband  to  a  woman  he  waa 


1-98  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

really  attached  to ;  but  I  have  not  the  least  spark  of  affection  for 
hiin,'^thovigh  there  is  something"  very  distinguished  in  his  figure  and 
bearing- ;  even  his  rug-o-edness  is  perfectly  free  from  vulgarity.  Yes, 
he  is  a  sort  of  man  who  might  fascinate  some  ■women ;  but  he  is 
terribly  wrong-headed.  If  he  keeps  hoping  on  until  I  marry,  h.)  has 
a  long'spell  of  celibacy  before  him.  I  dare  say  he  will  be  married 
himself  before  two  years  are  over. 

She  sat  awhile  longer  thinking,  her  face  growing  softer  and  sadder. 
Then  she  rose,  wrapped  her  shawl  round  her,  and  walked  slowly  back 
to  the  cottage,  where  she  found  the  rest  of  the  part}'  just  returned, 
joyous  and  hungry. 

Bertie  came  down  late  on  the  following  Saturday,  and  brought  a 
note  from  Rachel  Trant  to  Katherine,  accepting  her  offer  of  quarters 
at  Sandbourne  with  grateful  readiness.  Katherine  was  always 
pleased  with  her  letters  ;  they  expres.sod  so  much  in  a  few  wox'ds  ; 
a  spirit  of  affectionate  gratitude  breathed  through  their  quiet 
diction. 

Katherine  was  very  glad  to  receive  it,  for  Bertie's  accounts  of 
their /jro^.^^'*;  made  her  uneasy.  She  had  at  tir.st  refused  to  move, 
saying  it  was  really  of  no  use  spending  money  upon  her,  and  seemed 
tobe  sinking  back'  into  the  lethargic  condition  from  which  Kath- 
erine had  woke  her. 

Her  kind  protectress  therefore  set  off  early  on  Monday  to  tell  Mrs. 
Korris  she  was  coming,  and  to  make  her  room  look  pretty  and  chex3r- 
ful.  By  her  orders  the  boatman's  son  Avas  despatched  to  meet  their 
expected  tenant  on  her  arrival.  Miss  Pajaie  having  arranged  a  pic- 
nic for  that  day,  at  which  Katherine's  company  could  not  be  dis- 
pensed with. 

When  they  returned  it  was  already  evening  ;  still  Katherine  could 
not  refrain  from  visiting  her  friend.  '*She  will  be  so  stran^-e  and 
lonely  with  people  she  has  never  seen  before,"  she  said  to  Bertie. 
"As  soon  as  tea  is  over  1  shall  go  and  see  her." 

"  It  will  be  rath?r  late,  yet  it  v.ill  be  a  great  kindness.  I  will  go 
with  j'ou,  and  wait  for  you  among  the  rocks  on  the  beach." 

Miss  Payne  expressed  her  opinion  that  it  was  luiAvise  to  set  beg- 
gars on  horseback,  but  offered  no  further  opix)sition. 

The  sini  had  not  quite  sunk  as  Katherine  and  her  companion 
walked  leisurely  by  the  road  which  skirted  the  beach  toward  the 
boatman's  dwelling. 

"I  wish  we  could  find  some  occupation  that  could  so  fill  Rachel 
Trant's  mind  as  to  prevent  these  dreadful  fits  of  depression,"  began 
Katherine, 

"  She  had  plenty  of  work,  and  seeraexl  successful  in  her  perfor- 
mance of  it,"  he  returned  :  "but  it  does  not  seem  to  have  kept  her 
from  a  recurrence  of  these  morbid  moods.  Loneliness  does  not  ap- 
pear to  suit  her." 

"Sitting  from  morning  till  night,  unremittingly  at  work,  in 
silence,  alone  with  memories  which  must  be  very  sadj^is  not  the  best 
method  of  recovering  cheerfulness,  and  unfortunately  Rachel  is  too 
much  above  her  station  to  make  many  friends  in  it.  She  wants 
movement  as  well  as  work,"  remarked  Katherine. 


A  CKOOKED  PATH.  199 

"As  yon  consider  her  so  g-ood  a  dressmaker,  it  might  be  well  to 
establish  her  on  a  larger  scale,  and  give  her  some  of  the  older  girls 
from  our  Home  as  apprentices.  Looking-  after  and  teaching  them 
would  amuse  as  well  as  occupy  her." 

"  It  is  an  idea  worth  developing  !"  exclaimed  Katherine  ;  and  they 
walked  on  a  few  paces  in  silence. 

"So  De  Burg-h  has  been  paying  you  a  visit-?"  said  Bertie  at 
length. 

'•He  has  been  paying  Sandbourne  a  visit.  He  did  not  stay  with 
us." 

"  It  is  wonderful  that  he  could  tame  his  energies  even  to  stay  here 
a  few  days. " 

"  He  was  here  only  two  days  the  last  time." 

"  Voif  cannot  have  much  in  common  with  such  a  man.  ' 

"  Not  much,  certainly  ;  still,  he  interests  me.  He  has  had  such  a 
narrow  escai^e  of  being  a  good  man." 

•'  Narrow  escape  !  I  should  say  he  never  was  in  much  danger  of 
that  destiny.^' 

"  Perhaps  if  the  door  of  every  heart  were  opened  to  us  we  should 
see  more  good  in  all  than  we  could  expect."  A  few  words  more 
brought  them  to  the  boatman's  house,  where  they  parted. 

Miss  Trant  was  at  home,  Mrs.  Norris  said.  Katherine  ascended 
the  steep  ladder-like  stair,  and  having  knocked  at  the  door,  entered 
the  room.  Rachel  was  seatefl  in  the  window,  which  was  wide  open. 
Her  elbows  rested  on  a  small  table,  and  her  chin  on  her  clasped 
hands,  while  her  lar""e  blue  eyes  looked  steadily  out  over  the  bav, 
which  slept  blue  ana  peaceful  below  ;  the  lines  "of  her  slightly  bent 
figure  looked  graceful  and  refined,  but  there  was  inlinite  sadness  in 
her  pose. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again,"  said  Katherine.  Rachel,  who 
was  too  deep  in  thought  to  hear  her  enter,  started  up  to  clasp  her 
offered  hand.  Her  pale  thin  face  was  lit  with  pleasure,  and  her 
grave,  almost  stern  eyes  soft  -ned. 

"  And  so  am  I.  You  do  not  know  how  glad.  Do  you  know,  I  be- 
gan to  think  I  never  should  see  you  again,"  and  she  kissed  the  hand 
she  held. 

"Do  not!"  said  Katherine,  bending  forward  to  kiss  her  brow. 
•'"Were  you  so  ill,  then?" 

"Not  "physically  ill,  except  for  mv  cough  ;  but  for  all  that  I  felt 
dying,  and"  really  I  often  wonder  why  you  try  to  keep  me  alive.  I 
am  a  trouble  to  you,  and  I  do  very  little  good.  Had  I  not  been  a 
coward  I  should  have  left  the  world,  where  I  have  no  particular 
place,  long  ago." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  have  a  sort  of  superstition  that  life  is  a  goodly 
gift  which"must  not  be  cast  aside  for  a  whim  ;  and  why  should  vou 
despair  of  finding  peace?  There  is  so  much  that  is  delightful  in 
life  !" 

"  And  so  much  that  is  tragic  !" 

"  Ah,  yes  !  but  if  we  only  seek  for  the  sorrowful  we  destroy  our 
own  lives,  without  helping  any  one.  You  must  let  the  dead  past 
bury  its  dead." 

""How  if  the  dead  past  comes  and  crosses  your  path,  and  looks  voa 
1  in  the  face?"  ' 


200  A  CEOOKED  PATa  ♦ 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Rachel?" 

"You  will  think  mo  weak  and  contemptible,  but  I  must  confess  tO 
you  the  cause  of  my  late  prostration.'' 
*'  Yes,  do ;  it  may  be  a  relief." 

"About  a  month  ag-o,"said  Rachel,  sitting  down  by  the  table  op- 
posite Katherine,  and  a^-ain  resting  her  elbow  on  it,  while  she  half 
hid  her  face  by  placing  her  open  hand  over  her  eyes,  "  I  was  walking 
to  Mrs.  Needham's  with  some  work  I  had  tinished,  when,  turning 
into  Lowndes  Square,  I  came  face  to  face  with— him.  It  is  true  1 
had  a  thick  veil  on,  and  my  large  parcel  must  have  partially  dis- 
guised me,  but  he  did  not  recognize  me.  He  passed  me  with  the 
most  unconscious  composure,  an  1  he  was  looking  better,  brighter, 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him.  The  sight  of  him  brought  back  all  the 
torturing  pangs  of  h.'lpless  sorrow  for  the  sweetness,  the  inter'- 
happiness  I  can  never  know  again  ;  the  stinging  shame,  the  poiso-i 
of  crushed  hopes,  the  profound  contempt  for  myself,  the  sense  of 
being  of  no  value  to  any  one  on  earth  I  think  if  I  could  have  spo- 
ken to  you,  I  might  have  shaken  of  these  hends  of  thought ;  but  I 
was  alone,  al'.vays  alone:  why  shoi.kl  I  live?" 

"  Rachel,  you  mmf  put  this  cruel  l  i  in  out  of  your  mind.  He  has 
been  the  destroyer  of  your  life.  Tr\'  and  cast  the  idea  of  the  past 
from  you.  Life  is  too  al)uu(lant  to"^  be  exhausted  by  one  sorrov/. 
You  have  years  before  you  in  which  to  build  up  a  new'existenco  and 
tind  consolation.  I  will  not  listen  to  another  word  about  your 
former  life  ;  let  us  only  look  forward.  1  have  a  plan  for  you  —at 
least  Mr.  Payne  has  suggested  the  idea— in  which  youcan  lulp  us 
and  others,  and  which  will  need  all  your  time  and  energy .>  But  I 
will  not  even  talk  of  this  business.  We  must  try  ligiiter  and  i)L\'is- 
anter  topics  Not  another  word  about  by -gone  days  will  I  speak. 
You  have  started  afresh  under  my  auspices,  and  I  mean  you  to  Hoat. 
No'v  that  you  are  here,  Rach(;l,  you  must  read  amusing  books,  and 
be  out  in  the  open  air  all  day.  You  will  be  a  new  creature  in  a 
week.  You  must  come  and  see  my  cottage  and  my  nephews  ;  they 
are  dear  little  fellows  Are  you  fond  of  children  y' 
I  *'  I  don't  think  I  am.  I  never  had  anything  to  do  with  them.  But 
I  would  rather  not  go  to  your  house,  dear  Miss  Liddell.  I  feel  as  if 
I  could  not  brave  Miss  Psiyne's  eyes.'' 

"  That  is  mere  morbidness.  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
fear  any  one.  You  must  discount  your  future  rights.  A  few  years 
hence,  when  you  are  a  new  woman,  you  will,  I  am  sure,  look  back 
with  wonder  and  pity  as  if  reading  fhe  memo!  •  of  another.  1  know 
that  spells  of  self -forgiveness  come  to  us  mercifu,.y." 

"  When  I  listen  to  you,  and  hoar  in  the  tones  of  your  voice  more 
even  than  in  your  words  that  you  are  my  friend,'  that  you  really 
care  for  me,  that  it  will  be  a,  real  j  )y  to  you  to  sej  m,'.  rise  above 
myself,  I  feel  that  I  can  live  and  strive  and"  be  something  mare  than 
a  galvanized  corpse.  You  give  me  strength.  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
ever  be  able  to  prove  to  you  what  you  have  done  for  me.  Stand  by 
me,  and  I  icill  try  to  put  the  pa.st  under  my  feet.  I  do  not  wish  to 
presume  on  the  great  goodness  you  have  shown  me  nor  to  forget  the 
difference  between  us  socially,  IhU  oh  !  let  me  believe  you  love  me— 
even  me— with  the  kindly  afl'ection  that  can  fore-ive" even  while  it 
[blamea.'^ 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  201 

"  Be  assured  of  that,  Rachel,"  cried  Katherine,  her  eyes  moist  and 
beautiful  with  the  divine  lig-ht  of  kindness  and  sympathy,  as  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  clasp  Eachel's.  "I  have  from"  the  first 
been  drawn  to  you  strang-ely — it  is  something  instinctive— and  I 
have  firm  belief  in  your  future,  if  you  will  but  believe  in  yourself. 
You  are  a  strong',  brave  woman,  who  can  dare  to  look  truth  in  the 
face.     You  will  be  useful  and  successful  yet. " 

Rachel  held  her  hand  tig-htly  for  a  minute  in  silence  ;  then  she 
said,  in  a  low  but  firm  voice :  ''I  will  try  to  realize  your  belief.  I 
should  be  too  unworthy  if  I  failed  to  do  my  very  best.  There  !  I 
have  discarded  the  past :  you  shall  hear  of  it  no  more." 

They  were  silent  for  a  while  ;  then  a  solemn  old  eight-day  clock 
with  a  fine  tone  struck  loudly  and  deliboi'atedly  in  tha  room  below. 
Katherine,  with  a  smile,  counted  each  stroke.  "  Nine !"  she  ex- 
claimed, when  the  last  had  sounded  ;  "  and  though  it  is  9  p.m.,  let 
it  be  the  first  hour  of  your  new  life."  She  rose,  and  passing  her  arm 
over  Rachel's  shoulder,  kissed  her  once  more  with  sisterly  warmth. 
"Mr.  Payne  is  waiting  for  me,  so  I  must  leave  you..  Ihave  sent 
you  some  books  ;  I  have  but  few  here.  One  will  amuse  you,  I  am 
sure,  though  it  is  old  enough— a  translation  of  the  Memoirs  of  Madam 
d'Ahraniei^.  It  is  full  of  such  quaint  pictures  of  the  great  Napoleon's 
court,  and  does  not  display  much  dignity  or  nobility,  yet  it  is  an 
honest  sort  of  book." 

"  Thank  you.  I  don't  want  novels  now :  they  generally  pain 
me.    But  my  greatest  solace  is  to  forget  myself  in  a  book  " 

Bertie  Pavne's  visit  was  a  very  happy  one.  The  boys  adored  him, 
and  subjects  of  discussion  and  difference  of  opinion  never  failed  be- 
tween Katherine  and  himself.  She  consulted  him  as  to  what  school 
would  be  best  for  Cecil,  and  he  advised  that  he  should  be  left  as  a 
boarder  at  the  one  which  he  now  attended,  and  where  he  had  made 
fair  progress,  when  Miss  Pavne  and  Katherine  returned  to  town. 

Bertie  looked  a  new  man  when  he  bade  them  good-by,  promising 
to  come  again  soon. 

Bevond  sending  a  newspaper  which  recorded  his  victory  in  the 
Barton  Towers  s'^ejple-chase  De  Burgh  made  no  sign,  and  life  ran 
smoothly  in  its  ordinary  grooves  at  Sandbourne. 

Rachel  Trant  revived  marvellously.  The  change  of  scene,  the 
fresh  salt-air,  above  all  the  society  of  Katherine,  who  frequently 
visited  and  walked  with  her,  all  combined  to  give  her  new  life- 
even  emboldening  her  to  look  at  the  future.  Her  manner,  always 
grave  and  respectful,  won  reluctant  approval  from  Miss  Payne. 
And  the  boys  were  alwavs  pleased  to  run  to  the  boatman's  cottage 
with  flowers  or  fruit,  and  talk  to,  or  rather  question,  their  new  friend. 
Rachel  seemed  alwavs  glad  to  see  them,  though  she  evidently  shrank 
from  returning  their  visits  She  was  never  quite  herself,  or  off 
guard,  except  when  alone  with  Katherine.  Then  she  spoke  out  of  her 
heart,  and  uttered  thoughts  and  opinions  which  often  surprised 
Katherine,  and  set  her  thinking  more  seriously  than  she  had  ever 
done  before.  Finally,  hearing  from  her  good  old  landlady  that  some 
of  her  customers  had  returned  to  town  and  were  inquiring  for  her, 
Rachel  said  it  was  time  her  holiday  came  to  an  end. 
"  1  feel  now  that  I  can  bear  to  live  and  try  to  be  independent. 


202  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Indeed  my  life  is  yours ;  you  have  given  it  back  to  me,  and  I  will 
yet  prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  unworthy  of  your  wonderful  gen- 
erosity," she  said,  the  morning  of  the  day  she  was  to  start  for  Lon- 
don, as  she  sat  with  Katlierine  among  the  rocks  at  the  point.  "The 
idea  of  an  establishment  such  as  Mr.  Payne  suggests  is  excellent, 
it  ought  to  be  your  property,  and  good  property — I  need  only  be 
your  steward— while  it  may  be  of  great  use  to  others." 

"1  feel  quite  impatient  to  carry  out  the  project,  and  we  will  set 
about  it  as  soon  as  I  return  to  town,"  returned  Katherine. 

"  Will  vou  write  to  me  sometimes?"  asked  Rachel,  humbly.  "I 
feel  as  if  1  dare  not  let  you  go :  all  of  hope  or  promise  that  can  come 
into  my  wrecked  life  centres  in  you.  While  you  are  my  friend  I 
can  face  the  world." 

"  Yes,  Rachel,  write  to  me  as  often  as  you  like,  and  1  will  answer 
your  letters.    Trust  me :  I  will  always  be  your  true  friend." 


*    .  CHAPTER  XXn. 

"warp   and   woof." 

When  the  rough  weather  of  a  stormy  autumn  obliged  Katherine  to 
keep  in-doors  sne  began  to  feel  the  monotony  of  existence  by  the 
sad  sea  waves,  and  to  wish  for  the  sociability  of  London.  The  end 
of  October,  then,  saw  Miss  Payne  and  party  re-established  in  Wilton 
Street,  having  left  Cecil  at  school.  With  Charlie,  Katherine  could 
not  part  just  yet.  She  intended  to  keep  him  till  after  Christmas, 
when  he  was  to  go  to  school  with  his  brother. 

f  Though  town  was  empty  as  regarded  "  society,"  there  was  plenty 
of  life  and  movement  in  the  streets,  and  Katherine,  always  thankful 
for  occupation  which  drew  her  thoughts  away  from  her  profound 
regret  for  the  barrier  which  existed  between  Errington  and  herself, 
was  glad  to  Tje  back  in  the  ^reat  capital.  She  threw  herself  into  the 
scheme  of  establishing  Rachel  Trant  as  a  "  court  dress-maker  "  most 
heartily,  and  Bertie  Payne  spared  time  from  his  multifarious  avoca- 
tions to  give  important  assistance.  Rachel  herself,  too,  proved  to  be 
a  wise  counsellor,  her  previous  training  having  given  her  some  ex- 
perience in  business.  Katherine  therefore  found  interesting  employ- 
ment in  looking  for  a  small  house  suited  to  the  undertaking. 

Mr.  Newton  was  writing  busily  in  his  private  room  one  foggy 
afternoon  when  he  was  informed  that  Miss  Liddell  wished  to  speak 
to  him. 

"  Show  her  in  at  once,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  as  if  pleased,  and  he 
rose  to  receive  her.  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Liddell,  looking  all  the 
better  for  your  sojourn  by  the  sea-side.  Why,  it  must  be  nearly  six 
months  since  I  saw  you.' 

"Yes,  quite  six  mouths,  Mr.  Newton.  I  suppose  you  have  been 
refreshing  yourself  too,  after  the  fatigues  of  the  season.  You  must 
try  Sandbourne  next  vear.     It  is  a  very  nice  little  place." 

*'Sandbourne?  I  don't  think  1  know  it.  But  now  what  do  you 
want,  my  dear  young  lady  ?  1  don't  suppose  you  come  here  merely 
for  pleasure." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  203 

"I  assure  you  it  alwa^ys  gives  me  great  pleasure,"  said  Katherine, 
with  a  sweet,  sunny  smile.  "  You  have  always  been  my  very  good 
friend." 

"  Well,  a  sincere  one,  at  all  events,"  returned  the  dry  old  lawj'^er, 
whose  aridity  was  not  proof  against  the  charm  of  his  young  client. 

"I  must  not  waste  your  time,"  she  resumed,  drawing  her  chair  a 
little  nearer  the  table  behind  which  he  was  ensconced.  "I  want  to 
buy  a  house  which  I  have  seen,  and  I  want  you  to  attend  to  all  de- 
tails connected  with  it." 

"  Oh— ah  !  Well,  a  good  house  would  not  be  a  bad  investment ; 
it  would  be  very  convenient  to  have  a  residence  in  London." 

"It  is  not  for  myself  ;  it  is  a  speculation." 

"A  speculation?    What  put  that  into  your  head?" 

Whereupon  Katherine  told  him  her  story. 

"I  think  it  rather  a  mad  undertaking',"  was  Mr.  Newton's  verdict. 
"These  projects  seldom  succeed.  I  don't  care  for  clever  interesting 
young  women  who  have  no  one  belonging  to  them  and  cannot  cor- 
roborate their  stories.  How  do  you  know  she  was  not  dismissed 
from  Blackie  &  Co.'s  for  theft?" 

Katherine  laughed.  "I  certainly  do  not  know,"  she  said,  "but  I 
fee}  it  is  quite  as  impossible  for  her  to  steal  as  it  is  for  myself.'' 

"  Feel !— feel !"  (impatiently).  "  Just  so :  impostors  thrive  on  the 
good  feelings  of— of  the  simple." 

"  You  were  going  to  say  fools,"  said  Katherine.  "Don't  let  us 
waste  time,  my  dear  Mr.  Newton,"  she  went  on,  with  good-humored 
decision.  "  We  shall  never  agi'ee  on  such  a  topic  ;  and  I  am  going 
to  buy  this  house,  or  another  of  the  same  kind  if  this  proves  not  to 
be  desirable  ;  anu  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  employ  any  one  but  you 
to  arrange  the  purchase. " 

"Oh,  you  know  your  own  mind,  and  how  to  threaten — eh,  Miss 
Liddell  ?"  he  returned,  with  a  smile.  "  I  must  know  more  about 
the  tenement  before  I  can  consent  to  act  for  you. " 

"  It  is  an  ordinary  three-storied  house,  with  a  couple  of  rooms 
built  out  at  the  back,  in  a  small  street  where  there  are  a  few  shops  ; 
but  it  is  near  Westbourne  Terrace,  and  therefore  in  a  region  of  good 
customers.  The  late  owner  has  been  succeeded  by  a  son,  who  seems 
very  anxious  to  get  rid  of  it.  The  price  asked  is  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds,  and  I  believe  the  taxes  are  under  ten  poimds.  Do, 
dear  Mr.  Newton,  look  into  the  matter,  and  get  it  settled  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  on  the  best  terms  you  can." 

"  Hum  !  and  the  furniture  ?    Do  you  undertake  that  too  ?" 

"  Of  course.  Don't  you  see,  I  can  do  it  all  out  of  the  money  I  have 
not  been  able  to  use.  There  is  quite  three  thousand  pounds  on  de- 
posit in  the  bank.  You  know  you  wrote  to  me  only  a  month  ago 
about  letting  the  money  lie  idle.  I  shall  employ  it  now,  for  my 
2)rotegee,  Miss  Trant,  will  be  my  only  manager.  I  will  pay  her  wages, 
and  whatever  profit  after  comes  to  me." 

"  A  very  unknown  quantity,"  said  the  lawyer,  drily.  "  Still,  the 
house  can't  run  away,  and  I  suppose  will  aways  let  for  fifty  or  sixty 
pounds  a  year. " 

"  Fifty,  I  think." 

"  Then  I  will  look  into  the  matter.  Is  H  ;•>  kabitabte  s^- 
pair?"  


204  A  CROOKED  PATn. 

"It  seems  so.  Do  your  best  to  have  the  purchase  completed 
as  soon  as  possible,  dear  Mr.  Newton.  I  want  to  start 
my  modiste  in  g-ood  time  to  ca;;ch  the  Iioine-coming'  people. 

"*'  Believe  me,  it  is  an  unwise  project,"  said  Newton,  thought- 
fully. 

"I  know  you  think  so,  and  you  are  right  to  coiinsyl  me  according 
to  your  conscience  ;  but  as  I  ain  quite  determinexi,  you  must  not  let 
me  go  to  a  strang-er  for  help." 

"very  well  ;  give  me  the  address." 

"  Seven  Maiden  Street,  Paddington.  Bell  &  Co.,  house  agents,  in 
Harrow  Road,  have  it  on  their  books." 

"  Good  !  I'll  get  a  surveyor  to  see  to  sanitary  arrangements,  etc. 
Now  that,  as  usual,  you  have  conquered  again  and  again,  tell  me 
something  of  yourself.  Are  you  tired  of  the  little  nephews 
yet?" 

"  No,  indeed.  I  have  been  happier  with  them  than  I  dared  hope  to 
be  when  I  was  left  alone  nearly  a  year  ago,  yet  " —  Her  voice  fal- 
tered and  her  soft  dark  eyes  liTled. 

"Yes,  yes,"  hastily,  with  a  man's  dread  of  tears  ;  "you  couldn't 
get  over  that  all  at  once.  But  you  know  it  is  a  very  Quixotic  busi- 
ness taking  those  boys  ;  and  Mrs.  Ormonde  is  not  the  woman  to  re- 
lieve you  should  any  diiliculty  arise." 

"Butwhen  boysarewell  providedfor  there  never  can  be  a  difficulty. 
Ah,  Mr.  Newton,  what  a  wonderful  magician  money  is  !  What  would 
become  of  me  without  it?  It  is  almost  worth  risking  anything  to 
get  it." 

"Or,  apparently,  to  get  rid  of  it,"  remarked  Mr  NcAvton.  "  f?y- 
the-way,  that  was  a  tremendous  smash  of  Errington's.  Did  you  hear 
anything  about  him  ?" 

"  Yes,"  rather  faintly. 

"  The  reason  I  mention  him  is  that,  curiously  enough,  he  was  the 
man  your  uncle  left  everything  to  in  that  wilf  he  very  fortunately 
destroyed.  Of  course  I  sliould  only  mention  it  to  you  :  though  now 
all  is  passed  and  gone,  it  is  of  no  importance.  He  "has  behaved  very 
well.  I  am  told  he  has  turned  to  literature.  It's  a  pity  he  did  not 
follow  his  profes.sion  ;  but  it  would  be  rather  late  in  the  day  for 
that.  I  think  you  must  find  these  I'ooms  rather  stuiKy  and 
warm  after  the  sea-breezes,  for  you  are  looking  pale  and  tagged 
again." 

•'  I  feel  a  headache  coming  on,"  said  Katherine,  pulling  herself  to- 
gether. "  I  hope  you  will  i)ay  me  a  visit  some  day.  I  should  like 
to  show  you  my  dear  little  Charlie.  He  has  a  great  look  of  my 
mother,  especiallv  his  eyes  ;  they  ariijusf  like  hers." 

"If  you  will  ailow  me  to  come  some  Sunday " 

"Certainly.  You  will  sympathise  with  Miss  Payne.  She  shares 
your  deep-rooted  distrust  of  your  fellow-creatures  '  Yet  even  ahe  has 
some  faint  faith  in  Rachel  Trant." 

"That  is  the  best  symptom  about  the  affair  I  have  yet  he^rd  of. 
By-thf'  bye,  this  Miss  Payne  has  made  you  comfortable?  she  has  been 
a  successful  experiment.'"' 

"  Very  successful  indeed.  I  quite  like  her,  and  respect  her  ;  but  I 
shall  not  stay  longer  than  the  time  I  agreed  for.  I  want  to  make  8 
home  for  the  boys  and  myself." 


A  CROOKED  PATH,  205 

"What !    Will  Mrs.  Ormonde  give  them  up?" 

"Not  avowedly,  but  they  will  ultimately  glide  into  my 
hands. " 

"  I  trust  you  will  not  regret  the  charge  you  are  taking  on  vour- 
self." 

"  I  do  not  fear  failure.  These  children  are  a  great  source  of  plea- 
sure to  me." 

A  few  more  words,  a  promise  on  Mr.  Newton's  part  to  hurry 
matters,  and  Katherine,  bidding  him  adieu  for  the  present,  descended 
to  the  brougham  which  she  usually  hired  for  distant  expeditions. 
Ordering  the  coachman  to  stop  at  Howell  &  James',  Katherine  leaned 
back  and  reflected  on  the  interview  with  ]SIr.  Newton.  No  doubt  he 
thought  he  had  given  her  a  good  deal  of  curious  information.  If  he 
only  knew  what  a  living  lie  she  v.as !  Her  duplicity  met  her  at 
eveVy  turn,  and  cried  shame  upon  her.  However,  she  had  the  par- 
don and  permission  of  him  against  whom  she  had  chiefly  offended  •  that 
counted  for  much.  Still,  it  was  too  hard  a  punishment  that  the  ghost 
of  her  transgression  should  thus  cry  out  against  her,  and  she  had 
done  her  best  to  rectify  it.  She  felt  profoundly  depressed.  It  Avas 
an  e'Vort  to  execute  the  commissions  intrusted  to  her  by  Miss  Payne. 
Th:se  performed,  she  was  leaving  the  shop,  when  a  gentleman  who 
was  passing  rapidly  almost  ran  against  her.  He  paused  and  raised 
his  fiat  as  if  to  apologize.    It  was  Errington. 

"Miss  Liddell!"  he  exclaimed,  a  startled,  pleased  look  animating 
his  eyes.  "  I  understood  you  were  out  of  town.  I  hardly  hoped  to 
meet  vou  again." 

Katherine  fiushed  up,  and  then  grew  white.  "  I  have  been  out  of 
town  ever  since — "  Since  what  ? — that  tui-ning-point  in  her  life  when 
she  confes.sed  all  to  him? 

"And  I  have  been  in  town,"  rejoined  Errington.  "It  is 
not  nearly  so  bad  as  some  people  imagine.  Where  are  you 
staying?"" 

"Oh,  I  am  always  with  Miss  Payne,  in  Wilton  Street." 

"  1  remember.  But  I  am  keeping  you  standing.  May  I  come  and 
see  you?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  would  rather  not,"  cried  Katherine,  with  an  irresistible 
impulse  which  she  regretted  the  next  moment. 

"You  are  always  frank,"  said  Errington,  with  a  kind  smile,  yet 
in  a  disappointed  tone.  "I  will  not  intrude,  then.  How  are  your 
nephews,  and  Mrs.  Ormonde?  1  seem  to  have  lost  sight  of  everyone, 
for  I  have  become  a  very  busy  man." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  returned,  her  color  going  and  coming, 
her  heart  beating  so  fast  she  could  hardly  speak.  "  I  must 
seem  so  rude  !  But  I  have  read  some  of  your  pap.'rs  in  The 
Age.  It  must,  indeed,  take  time  and  study  to  produce  such 
articles." 

"And  patience  on  the  part  of  a  young  lady  to  wade  through 
them." 

"  No  ;  they  always  interest  me,  even  when  a  little  over  my  head. 
Though  I  do  not  want  you  to  come  and  see  me,  I  am  always  so  glad 
to  hear  about  you,  to  know  you  are  well." 

"  Then  why  avoid  me?" 


206  Jl  ceooked  path. 

"  How  can  I  help  it?"— looking-  at  him  with  dewy  eyes  and  quiv- 
ering' lips. 

"Well,  I  must  accept  your  decision.  I  wish—  But  I  will  not 
detain  you."  He  opened  the  carriage  door  and  handed  her 
in. 

For  an  instant  her  eyes  sought  his  with  a  wistful,  deprecat- 
ino"  look,  then  she  said,  "Tell  him  'home,' please,"  and  she  drove 
on. 

The  encounter  unhinged  her  for  the  day.  Why  had  he  crossed 
her  path,  and  why  had  she  allowed  herself  to  reject  his  friendly  offer 
to  come  and  see  her?  Yet  it  would  have  made  her  miserable  to 
bear  the  quiet  scrutiny  of  his  eyes  through  a  whole  visit.  He  had 
evidently  quite  forgiven  her,  but  that  could  not  restore  her  self- 
respect  or  render  her  less  keenly  alive  to  the  silent  reproach  of  his 
presence.  And  yet  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  speak,  his  voice  was 
so  clear,  so  well  modulated,  so  intelligent.  And  how  well  he  looked  ! 
—better  and  brighter  than  she  had  ever  seen  him.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  not  breaking  his  heart  about  Lady  Alice.  How  could 
she  have  given  him  up  ? 

Though  nothing  was  more  natural  or  probable  than  that  they 
should  meet  when  both  lived  iji  the  same  town,  huo-e  as  it  is,  it  was 
an  immense  surprise  to  Katherine,  who  had  someliow  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  they  were  never  to  set  eyes  on  each  other  again. 
This  impression  upset  her.  She  was  constantly  on  the  outlook  for 
Errington  wherever  she  drove  or  walked,  and  the  composure  which 
she  had  been  diligently,  and  with  a  sort  of  sad  resignation  to  Erriiig- 
tons  wishes,  building  up,  was  replaced  by  a  feverish,  restless  anti- 
cipation of  she  knew  not  what. 

The  result  was  increased  eagerness  to  see  the  completion  of  her 
dressmaking  scheme,  and  she  made  Mr.  Newton's  life  a  burden  to 
him  till  all  was  accomplished. 

In  this  she  found  a  shrewd  assistant  in  Mrs.  Needham,  who 
took  up  the  cause  furiously,  and  drove  hither  and  thither,  exhort- 
ing, entreating,  commanding,  and  really  bringing  in  customers, 
somewhat  to  Katherine's  surprise,  as  she  did  not  expect  much  wool 
from  so  g-reat  a  cry. 

Shortly  before  Christmas  Miss  Trant's  establishment  was  in  full 
working  order,  a  couple  of  clever  assistants  had  been  engaged,  and 
Rachel  herself  seemed  to  wake  up  to  the  full  energy  of  her  nature 
under  the  spur  of  responsibility. 

The  affair  was  not  brought  to  a  conclusion,  however,  without  a 
struggle  on  the  part  of  Mr.  NeAvton  against  Katherine's  resolution 
not  to  appear  in  the  matter.  The  house  was  bought  in  Rachel  Trant's 
name,  the  sale  was  made  to  her,  and  Miss  Liddell's  name  never 
appeared.  Newton  declared  it  to  be  sheer  madness  ;  even  Bertie  Payne 
considered  it  unwise  ;  but  Katherine  was  immovable. 

"I  am  Miss  Trant's  creditor,"  she  said.  "If  successful,  sho 
will  pay  me :  if  not,  why,  she  will  give  up  the  house  to  me.  I  have 
full  faith  in  her,  and  1  wish  her  to  be  perfectly  unshackled  in  the  un- 
dertaking. As  the  owner  of  a  house  she  will  more  readily  obtain  any 
credit  she  may  need." 

"Which  means,"   said  Mr.    Newton,    crossly,  "that   you  jrill 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  207 

have  to  pay  her  debts  if  you  ever  intend  to  get  possession  of  the 
house." 

"Well,  I  have  made  up  m^  mind  to  the  risk,"  returned  Kath- 
arine, with  smiling  determination  ;  "  so  we  will  say  no  more  about 
it." 

The  unexpected  meeting  with  Errington  haunted  Katherine  for 
many  a  day,  and  many  a  night  Mas  broken  by  unpleasant  dreams. 
She  was  lilled  with  regret  for  having  so  hastily  refused  his  proffered 
visit.  Yet  had  he  come  she  would  have  been  uneasy  in  his  presence. 
She  longed  to  see  him  again  ;  she  came  home  from' driving  or  walk- 
ing each  day  with  aching  eyes  and  dulled  heart  because  she  had  been 
disappointed  in  encountertng  him.  Yet  she  dreaded  to  meet  him, 
and  trembled  at  the  idea  of  speaking  to  him.  She  was  dismayed  at 
the  restless  dissatisfaction  of  her  own  mind.  Was  she  never  to  find 
peace?  never  to  know  real  enjoyment  in  her  ill-o-otten  fortune? 
Why  was  it  that  the  image  of  this  man  was  perpetually  before  her, 
the  sound  of  his  voice  in  her  ears?  Then  the  answer  of  her  inner 
consciousness  came  to  overwhelm  her  with  shame  and  confusion  : 
**  Because  you  love  him  with  all  the  strength  and  fervor  of  a  heart 
that  has  never  frittered  away  its  force  in  senseless  flirtations  or  pass- 
ing fancies."  This  was  the  climax  of  misfortune.  To  know  that 
the  one  of  all  others  she  most  looked  up  to  must,  in  spite  of  his  kind 
forbearance,  despise  her  as  a  cheat.  Surely  it  was  a  sufficient  pun- 
ishment for  a  delicately  proud  woman  to  know  that  she  had  given 
her  love  unasked.  All  that  remained  for  her  was  to  hide  her  deep 
wounds,  that  by  stifling  the  new  and  vivid  feelings  which  troubled 
her  they  would  die  out,  and  so  leave  her  in  a  state  of  monotonous 
repose.  "^  She  would  endeavor  by  all  possible  means  to  win  forgetful- 
ness. 

When  Cis  came  back  for  the  Christmas  holidays,  therefore,  he 
found  his  auntie  ready  to  go  out  with  Charlie  and  himself  to  circus 
and  pantomime,  Polytechnic  and  wax- works,  to  his  heart's  content. 
It  was  not  a  brisk  frosty  Christmas,  or  she  would  no  doubt  have  been 
with  them  on  the  ice,  and  the  round  of  boyish  dissipations  called 
forth  an  oracular  sentence  from  Miss  Payne.  "  It's  jiist  as  well 
those  boys  are  going  back  to  school,  Katherine.  You  are  more  foolish 
about  them  than  you  used  to  be,  and  if  they  staid  on  you  would  com- 
pletel3'  ruin  them." 

Just  before  the  holidays  were  over,  Mrs.  Ormonde  visited  London, 
or  rather  paused  in  passing  through  from  the  distinguished  Christ- 
mas gathering  to  which,  to  her  pride  and  satisfaction,  she  had  bean 
invited  at  Lady  Mary  Vincent's.  The  little  boys  were  indifferently 
glad  to  see  her,  and  with  the  jealousy  inherent  in  a  disposition  such 
as  hers  she  was  vexed  at  not  being'  first  with  her  own  boys,  yet 
delighted  to  hand  over  the  care  and  trouble  of  them  to  any  one  who 
woiud  undertake  it.  Those  mixed  feelings  ruffled  the  bright  sur- 
face of  her  self-content,  inflated  as  it  was  by  her  increasing  social 
success. 

She  chose  to  put  up  at  a  quiet  hotel  in  Dover  Street  rather  than 
accept  Katherine's  and  Miss  Payne's  joint  invitation  to  Wilton 
Street.  ^ 


208  A  CKOOKED  PATH. 

"  1  Know  yon  will  not  mind,  Katie  dear,"  she  said,  as  she  sat  at 
tea  (to  which  refreshment  she  had  invited  her  sister-in-law).  "You 
see  if  it  were  your  own  house,  quite  your  own,  I  should  prefer  stay- 
ing with  you  to  going  anywhere  else.    As  it  is " 

"You  are  quite  right  to  please  yourself,"  put  in  Katherine, 

"  Yes,  fiju  are  always  kind  and  considerate.  But,  do  you  know, 
both  Colonel  Ormondeand  I  are  very  anxious  you  should  establisn 
yourself  on  a  proper  footing.  Believe'me,  \'ou  do  not  take  the  social 
position  you  ought,  living  with  an  obscure  old  maid  like  Miss 
Payne"— this  in  a  tone  of  strong  common-sense.  "The  proper 
place  for  you  is  with  us  at  Castleford  in  the  autumn  and  w  inter,  and 
a  house  m  town  with  us  in  the  spring.  Then  you  and  I  might 
go  abroad  sometimes  together,  and  leave  Ormonde  to  his 
turnips  and  hunting.  You  would  be  sure  to  marry  well— quite 
sure." 

' '  But  I  am  going  to  settle  myself  in  a  house  of  my  own  this  spring," 
said  Katherine,  smiling. 

Against  this  project  Mrs.  Ormonde  exhausted  herself  in  eloquent 
if  contradictory  argument :  but  finding  she  made  no  impression, 
suddenly  changed  the  subject.  "That  is  a  very  expensive  school 
you  have  chosen  for  the  bo3S,  Katherine.  'Duke  thinks itridiculou?.. 
Sixty  pounds  a  year  for  such  a  little  fellow  as  Cis  !  and  now  Charlie 
will  cost  as  much." 

"It  is  not  cheap,  certainly  ;  but  it  is,  I  think,  worth  the  money. 
Cecil  has  improved  marvellously,  and  Sandbourne  agrees  so  well  with 
them  both." 

"You  will  do  as  you  think  best,  of  course.  We  have  the  highest 
regard  for  your  opinion.  But  you  must  remember  that  what  with 
clothes  and.  travelling  and — on,  and  doctors  '—it  all  comes  to  more 
than  three  hundred  a  year,  and  at  Castleford  I  could  keep  them  for 
next  to  nothing,  while  the  stingy  trustees  you  have  chosen  only  allow 
me  four  hundred  and  fifty." 

"So  you  have  only  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  out  of  the  total  for 
your  personal  expenses,  eh?"  said  Katherine,  laughing.  " Then  you 
nave  a  husband  behind  you." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  that  does  not  count  for  much.  'Duke  doesn't 
care  to  spend  money,  and  my  having  something  of  my  own  makes 
matters  wonderfully  smooth.  I  am  sure  you  would  not  like  to  make 
any  unhappiness  between  us." 

"  No,  certainly  not.  I  think  it  quite  right,  as  my  brother's 
widow,  vou  should  have  something  for  j'ourself  as  long  as  you 
live." 

"  You  really  have  a  great  sense  of  justice,  Katherine,  I 
must  say  !  Living  as  you  do,  dear,  you  can  form  no  idea 
what  it  costs  to  present  an  appearance  when  you  are  in  a  certain 
set." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  shall,  though  I  like  nice  clothes  too." 

"  And  look  so  well  in  them  !"  added  Mrs.  Ormonde,  who  was 
always  ready,  when  she  deemed  it  necessary,  to  burn  the  incense  of 
flattery  on  her  sister-in-law's  shrine.  "By-the-way,  that  is  a  very 
pretty,  well-made  costume  you  have  on.  I  think  you  are  slighter 
than  you  used  to  be." 


i  CEOOKED  path:  209 

"The  effect  of  a  good  fit.  I  wish  you  would  employ  my  dress- 
maker.   She  is  verv  moderate." 

"Is  she?" 

A  short  discussion  of  prices  followed,  and  Mrs.  Ormonde  de- 
clared she  would  call  on  Miss  Trant  that  very  afternoon  and  bespeak 
two  dresses,  for  all  she  had  were  quite  familiar  to  the  eyes  of  her 
associates. 

"  I  snppose  you  have  heard  or  seen  nothing  of  De  Burgh  lately?'* 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Ormonde,  suddenly. 

"  No,  not  for  a  long  time." 

"He  has  been  away— somewhere  in  Hungary,  hunting  or  shoot- 
ing—and then  he  has  been  staying  with  old  Lord  de  Bui-gh.  They 
used  hardly  to  speak,  and  now  he  seems  taken  into  favor  He  is  a 
curious  soft  of  man,  and  he  can  be  so  insolent !  How  he  will  put 
his  foot  on  people's  necks  when  he  gets  the  old  man's  title  and 
wealth !" 

"If  they  let  him,"  said  Katherine,  quieth . 

"  As  he  is  in  town,  1  thought  he  might  have  called  on  you.  He 
was  nhvavs  running  down  to  that  stupid  place  in  the  summer,  so 
I " 

"Mr.  De  Burgh  !"  said  a  waiter,  opening  the  door  with  a  burst. 

"Talk  of  an  ang'el !"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  rising  to  receive  him 
with  a  welcoming  smile.  "My  sister  was  just  saying  it  was  a  long 
time  since  sh3  had  seen  you." 

Katherine  felt  annoyed  at  the  thoughtless  speech —if  it  was  thought- 
less. However,  she  kept  a  composed  air,  though  the  varying  color 
which  she  never  could  regulate  told  De  Burgh  that  she  was  not 
unmovi'd. 

"  And  probably  hoped  it  would  be  longer,"  he  replied,  as  he  shook 
hands  with  Mrs.  Ormonde,  but  only  bowed  to  Miss  Lidd;-ll. 

"Don't  answer  him,"  cried  the  former;  "such  decided  fishing 
does  not  deserve  success." 

"I  will  not,"  said  Katherine,  with  a  kind  smile.  She  was  too 
thorough  a  woman  not  to  have  a  soft  corner  in  her  heart  for  the  mau 
who  had  professed,  with  so  convincing  an  air  of  sincerity,  to  love 
her  with  all  his  heart. 

It  did  not,  Iiowever,  seem  to  please  or  displease  him,  for  he  sat 
down  beside  the  tea  table  with  nis  usual  unalT'ected  ease,  and  ad- 
dressed his  conversation  to  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"  Just  heard  from  Carew  that  you  were  in  town,  and  I  have  only 
escapL'd  from  Pontygarvan,  where  I  have  been  playing  the  dutiful 
kinsman  to  my  immortal  relative.  I  don't  know  which  is  most  to 
be  avoided,  his  enmity  or  his  liking.  He  is  an  amusing  old  cynic 
at  times,  but  a  born  daspot.  He  only  let  me  away  to  prosecute  a 
scheine  th  it  he  has  taken  up,  and  which  I  have  gone  pretty  deeply 
into  mys'lf." 

"Ind.ied!"  exclaimed  Mrs  Ormonde,  handing  him  some  tea. 
"  Have  you  turned  promoter,  or — " 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  b.i  mv  own  promoter  ;  time  only  will  show 
how  I'll  succeed"    You  must  both  give  me  your  best  wishes." 

"  lam  sure  I  do,"  said  .Mrs.  Orminde. 

De  Burgh  raised  his  eyes  slowly  to  Katherine's.    She  had  not 


210  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

spoken.  "Don't  you  wish  me  success?  No;  I  thoug-ht  yon 
didn't." 

"I  wish  you  all  possible  happiness,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Have  you  quarrelled  with  Katherine,  or  offended  her,  that  she  is 
60  implaca'ble  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"  iSeither,  I  hope.  Now  what  are  you  doing"  in  the  way  of  amuse- 
ment ?  Have  you  seen  a  play  since  you  came  up  ?  The  panto- 
mimes are  still  on  at  the  big-  theatres,  fiut  I  want  you  to  come  and 
see  Ours  at  the  Prince  of  Wales  on  Thursday  ;  it's  vary  good  in 
parts.  Then  if  you'll  sup  with  me  after,  at  my  rooms,  I'll  g-et  Carew 
and  Brereton  and  one  or  two  others  to  meet  yon." 

"  It  would  be  very  nice  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Katherine.  "I  am,  strange  to  say, 
going  to  a  party  on  Thursday." 

"To  a  party!    How  extraordinary  !    Where,  Katherine  ?" 

"To  Lady  Harrington's— a  lady  I  knew  in  Florence,  and  who  has 
invited  me  repeatedly." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  glad  you  are  coming  out  of  your  shell  at 
last.    Where  does  this  Lady  Barrington  live  ?" 

"  In  Lancaster  Square,  not  far  from  my  abode." 

"  Well,  let  us  say  Friday  for  Ouvf,"  said  De  Burgh  ;  "for  I  too 
am  going  to  Lady  Barring-ton's  on  Thursday." 

"Then  why  did  you  invite  us  for  that  evening?"  cried  Mrs.  Or- 
monde. 

"I  could  have  gone  afterwards.  Lady  Barrington's  gatherings 
are  always  late.'' 

"  You  really  know  every  one." 

"Oh,  not  everv  one,  Mrs.  Ormonde." 

"Then  our  'play  '  is  not  to  come  off  unless  Katherine  is  to  be  of 
the  party  "—rather  pettishly. 

"If  you  like  I  will  take  you  on  Thursday,  and  Miss  Liddell  (if  she 
•will  allow  me)  on  Friday." 

"  What  nonsense !  We  will  all  go  together  on  Friday.  Katie,  do 
you  think  this  friend  of  yours  would  invite  me?  I  don't  care  to 
mope  here  when  vou  are  out  enjoying  yourself." 

"I  am  sure  she  would  be  very  pleased  to  see  you.  I  will  write 
and  ask  her  for  an  invitation  as  soon  as  I  go  home."  Katherine  rose 
as  she  spoke. 

"  Do,  like  a  good  girl ;  and  I  will  go  and  interview  this  dressmaker 
of  vours.    Till  to-morrow,  then." 

'The  little  woman  stood  on  tiptoe  to  kiss  her  tall  sister-in-law, 
who  left  the  room,  followed  by  De  Burgh. 

"Haven't  I  been  a  reasonable,  well-behaved  fellow  not  to  have 
haunted  or  worried  you  all  these  months?  Will  you  let  me  come 
and  tell  you  how  wise  and  staid  and  prudent  I  have  become?"  he 
said. 

He  spoke  half  m  jest,  but  there  was  a  wonderfully  appealing  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  Mr.  De  Burgh.  I  hope  you  will  go  on 
and  pi-o.six;r." 

"  And  will  you  shut  vour  doors  against  me  if  I  call?" 

"No  ;  why  should  11^", 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  211 

"Thanks!  How  heavenly  it  is  to  see  you  a^-ain !  thong-h  you 
don't  look  quite  as  bright  as  you  did  at  Sandbourne.  Is  this  yout 
carriage?  I  see  you  have  not  started  a  turn-out  of  your  own 
yet." 

"And  never  shall,  probably." 

"Not,  at  all  events,  till  you  have  appointed  your  '  master  of  the 
horse.'    Good-by  till  to-morrwnig-ht." 

He  handed  her  carefully  into  the  brougham,  and  stood  looking 
after  it  as  she  drove  away. 


i  )  .  CHAPTER  XXni. 

A  WANDERER  RETURNS. 

It  was  quite  an  event  in  Katherine's  quiet  life  to  go  to  a  party 
She  had  never  been  at  one  in  Landon,  and  anticipated  it  with  interest. 
Both  in  Florence  and  Paris  she  had  mixed  in  society  and  g-reatlv 
enjoved  it.  Now  she  felt  a  little  curious  as  to  the  impression  she 
might  make  and  receive.  Her  nature  was  essentially  vigorous  and 
healthy,  and  threw  off  morbid  feelings  as  certain  chemicals  reptH 
others  inimical  to  them.  She  would  have  enjoyed  life  intenselv  but 
for  the  perpetually  recurrino- sense  of  irritation  against  herself  for 
having  forfeited  her  own  self-respect  by  her  hasty  action.  It  would 
have  been  somewhat  humiliating  to'  have  taken  charity  from  the 
hands  of  Erring-ton,  but  this  was  as  notliing  to  the  crushing  abase- 
ment of  knowing  that  she  had  cheated  him.  Still,  no  condition  of 
mind  is  constant— except  with  monomaniacs— an(^  Katherine  was 
often  carried  away  from  herself  and  her  troubles. 

She  was  glad,  on  the  whole,  that  De  Burgh  was  to  be  at  Lady  Bar- 
rington's  reception. 

Sne  was  too  genial,  too  responsive,  not  to  find  admiration  very 
acceptable.  Nor  could  she  believe  that  a  man  like  De  Burgh,  hard 
daring,  careless,  could  suffer  much  or  long  through  his  affections! 
It  flattered  her  woman's  vanity,  too,  that  with  he/  he  dropped  his 
cynical,  mocking  tone,  and  spoke  with  straightforward  earnestness. 
He  might  have  ended  by  interesting  and  flattering  her  till  she  loved 
him — for  he  had  a  certain  amount  of  attraction— if  her  carefully 
resisted  feeling  for  Errington  had  not  created  an  antidote  to  the 
poison  he  might  have  introduced  into  her  life. 

Altogether  she  dressed  with  something  of  anticipated  pleasure,  and 
was  not  displeased  with  the  result  of  her  toilette. 

Her  dress  was  as  deeply  mourning  as  it  was  good  taste  to  wear  at 
an  evening  party.  A  few  folds  of  gauzy  white  lisse  softened  the 
edge  of  her  thick  black  silk  corsage,  a  iet  necklet  and  comb  set  off 
her  snowy,  velvety  throat  and  bright  golden  brown  hair. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  would  turn  out  so  effectively  !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Ormonde,  examining  her  with  a  critical  eye  as  thoy  took  off 
their  wraps  in  the  ladies'  cloak-room.  "Your  dress  might  have 
been  cut  a  little  lower,  dear  ;  with  a  long  throat  like  yours  it  is  very 
easy  to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  decency.  I  wonder  you  do  not 
buy  yourself  some  diamonds  ;  they  are  so  becominff." 


212  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"I  shall  wait  for  some  one  to  give  them  to  me,"  returned  Kather« 
ine,  laughing. 

'*  Quite  right  " — very  gravely — "  only  if  I  were  you  I  should  make 
haste  and  decide  on  the  '  some  one.' " 

"Mrs.  Ormonde  and  Miss  Liddell !"  shouted  the  waiters  from  land- 
ing to  door,  and  the  next  moment  Lady  Barrln.u'tou,  a  large  woman 
in  black  velvet  and  a  fierce  white  cap  in  which  glittered  an  aigret  of 
diamonds,  was  welcoming  them  with  much  cordiality. 

"  Very  happy  to  see  any  friend  of  yours,  my  dear  Miss  Liddc'U  !  I 
think  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you,  Mrs.  Ormonde,  at  Lord 
Trevallan's  gai'den-party  last  June  ?" 

"Oh  yes  ;  were  jfou  there?"  with  saucy  surprise. 

"Algernon,"  continued  Lady  Barrington,  motioning  with  her  fan 
to  a  tall,  thin  youth.  "My  nephew,  Mrs.  Ormonde,  Miss  Liddell.  I 
think  Algernon  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  Konie  V  Kath- 
erine  bowed  and  smiled.  "Take  Mrs.  Ormonde  and  Miss  Liddell  in 
and  find  them  seats  near  the  piano.  Signer  Bandolini  and  Madam 
Montebello  are  good  enough  to  give  us  some  of  their  charming 
duets,  and  are  just  going  to  begin.  I  was  afraid  vou  n/ig.it  be 
late." 

So  Mrs.  Ormonde  and  Miss  Liddell  were  ushered  to  places  of  honor, 
and  the  music  began. 

"  I  don't  see  a  soul  I  know,"  whispered  Mrs.  Ormonde,  presently. 
"  Yet  the  women  are  well  dressed  and  look  nice  enough,  but  the  men 
are  decidedly  caddish." 

"  London  is  a  large  place,  with  room  in  it  for  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men.    But  we  must  not  talk,  Ada." 

Mrs.  Ormonde  was  silent  for  a  while  ;  and  then  opening  her  fan 
to  screen  her  irrepressible  desire  to  communicate  her  observations, 
resumed : 

' '  I  am  sure  I  saw  Captain  Darrell  in  the  doorway  only  for  a 
minute,  and  he  went  away.  I  hope  he  will  come  and  talk 
to  us.  You  were  gone  when  he  came  back  from  leave— to  Monck- 
ton,  I  mean.  He  is  rather  amu — "  A  warning  "  hush  sh  "  inter- 
rupted her. 

"  What  rude,  ill-bred  people !"  she  muttered,  under  her  breath. 
And  soon  the  duet— a  new  one,  expressly  composed  to  show  off  the 
vocal  gymnastics  of  the  signore  and  madame— came  to  an  end  ;  there 
was  a  rustle  of  relief,  and  every  one  burst  into  talk. 

"How  glad  they  are  it  is  over  !"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde.  "Look  at 
that  tall  girl  in  pink.  You  see  those  sparkles  in  the  roses  on  her 
corsage  and  in  her  hair  ;  they  are  all  diamonds.  I  know  the  white 
glitter.  What  airs  she  gives  herself  !  I  suppose  she  is  an  heiress, 
and,  I  dare  say,  not  half  as  rich  as  you  are." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  I  am  no  millionaire, "  began  Katherine,  when 
she  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  she  knew,  which  said,  ''  I  had  no  idea 
it  was  to  be  such  a  ghastly  concern  as  this  !"  and  turning,  she  found 
De  Burgh  close  behind  her. 

"  What  offends  you?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  All  this  trilling  and  shrieking.  There's  tea  or  something  going 
on  down-stairs.  You  had  better  come  away  before  they  have  a  fresh 
burst ;  they  are  carrying"  up  a  big  fiddle." 


•  1  CROOKED  PATTt  "  213 

•'  Tea !''  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ormonde.  **  Oh,  do  take  me  away  to  have 
some !" 

"  Here,  Darrell,"  said  De  Burg-h,  coolly,  turning'  back  to 
speak  to  some  one  who  stood  behind  him.  "Here's  Mrs. 
Ormonde  dying  for  deliverance  and  tea.  Come,  do  your 
devoir.^' 

Darrell  hastened  forward,  smiling",  delig-hted.  With  a  little 
pucker  of  the  brow  and  lifting'  of  the  eyebrows  Mrs.  Ormonde  ac- 
cepted his  arm. 

"Now,  Miss  Liddell,"  said  De  Burg-h,  offering  his  ;  and  not  sorry 
to  escape  from  the  heated,  crowded  room,  Catherine  took  it  and 
accompanied  him  down  stairs. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  knew  Lady  Barrington,"  said  Katherine,  as 
he  handed  her  an  ice. 

"Know  her?  Never  heard  of  her  till  you  mentioned  her  name 
the  day  before  yesterday." 

"  How  did  she  come  to  ask  you  to  her  house,  then  ?" 

"  Let  me  see.  Oh,  I  went  down  to  the  club  and  aslced  if  any  one 
knew  Lady  Bai'rington,  and  who  was  going  to  her  party.  At  last 
Darrell  said  he  Avas  a  sort  of  relation,  and  that  he  would  ask  for  a 
card.    He  did,  and  here  I  am." 

"  But  you  said  you  were  coming." 

"  So  I  was.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  come  as  soon  as  you  said  you 
were." 

"  You  are  very  audacious,  Mr.  De  Burgh  !"  said  Katherine,  laugh- 
ing in  spite  of  her  intention  to  be  rather  distant  with  him. 

"Do  you  think  so?  Then  T  have  earned  th3  character  cheaply. 
Are  they  going  to  squall  and  fiddle  all  night?  1  thought  it  might 
turn  into  a  dance." 

"  I  did  not  imagine  you  would  condescend  to  dance." 

"  Whv  ?  I  used  to  like  dancing,  under  certain  conditions.  Don't 
fancy  I  Ihaven't  an  ear  for  music.  Miss  Liddell,  because  I  said  the 
performance  upstairs  was  ghastly.  1  am  very  fond  of  music— real 
sweet  music.  I  liked  ijour  songs,  and  I  shoulcl  have  liked  a  walt^s 
with  you— (wjmensely.  You  know  I  never  met  you  in  society  be- 
fore—'  He  stopped  abruptly  and  looked  at  her  from  hjadto'foot, 
with  a  comprehensive  glance  so  full  of  the  admiration  he  did  nrit 
venture  to  speak  that  Katherine  felt  the  color  mount  to  her  brow  and 
and  even  spread  over  her  white  throat,  while  an  odd  sense  of  uneasy 
distress  fluttered  her  pulses.  She  only  said,  indifferently :  "I might 
not  prove  a  good  partner.    I  have  never  danced  much." 

"  I  might  give  you  a  lesson  in  that  too,  as  well  as  in  handling  the 
ribbons.  And  for  that  there  will  be  a  grand  opportunity  next  week. 
Lord  De  Burgh  is  coming  up,  and  I  shall  have  the  run  of  hisstables, 
which  I  will  take  good  care  shall  be  well  filled.  We'll  have  out  a 
smart  pair  of  cobs,  and  you  shall  take  them  round  the  Park 
every  morning,  till  you  are  fit  to  give  all  the  other  women  whips 
the  go-by." 

"  Do  you  seriously  believe  such  a  scheme  possible?" 

"  It  snail  be  if  you  say  yes.  Do  vou  know  that  you  have  brought 
me  luck?  You  have,  'poii  my  soul  !  I  am  A-1  with  old  De  Burgh, 
and  I  won  a  pot  of  money  up  in  Yorkshire,  paid  a  lot  of  debts,  sold 


214  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

my  horses.  Now,  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  be  interested  in  your 
man  Friday?  You  remember  our  last  meeting  at  Sandbourne 
-hev?  Dcn't  you  thinlv  I  am  going  to  succeed  all  along  the 
Una?" 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say,"  returned  Katherine.  "You  know  there 
is  a  French  proverb—"  She  stopped,  not  liking  to  repe  it  it  as  she 
suddenly  remembered  the  ai)i)lication. 

"Yes,  I  do  know  the  lying  Gallic  invention!  Heureux  au  jeu, 
malheurcHx  en  amour.  Tdon't  believe  it.  If  luck's  with  you,  all 
goes  well ;  but  then  Fortune  is  such  a  fickle  jade !'' 

"  I  trust  you  will  always  be  fortunate,  Mr.  De  Burgh,"  said  Kath- 
arine, gently. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  say  so.  Now  I  don't  often  let  my  tongue  run 
on  as  it  has,  but  ir  you'll  be  patient  and  friendly,  I'll  be  as  mild  and 
inotlensive  as  a  youngster  fresh  from  school." 

"Very  well," "said  Katherine,  smiling  and  confused.  Here  she 
was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  approach  of  Mrs.  Needham,  her  dark, 
eyes  gleaming  with  pleased  recognition,  and  her  high  color  height- 
ened by  the  heat  of  the  rooms.  She  was  goro-eous  in  red  satin, 
black  lace  and  diamonds.  "My  dear  Miss  Liddell !  I  have  been 
looking  for  you  everywhere !  I  want  so  much  to  sjKiak  to  you  about 
a  project  I  have  for  starting  a  new  weekly  paper,  to  be  called  The 
Woman' ff  Weekhj.  There  is  an  empty  sofa  in  that  little  room  at  the 
other  side  of  the  haU.  Do  come,  and  I  will  explain  it  all.  It  is 
likely  to  do  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  to  be  a  paying  concern  into 
the  bargain.  You  will  excuse  me  for  running  away  with  Miss  Lid- 
d '11 " — to  De  Burgh — "but  we  have  some  matters  "to  discuss.  We 
s'lall  meet  you  upstairs  afterwards."  She  swept  Katherine  away, 
while  De  Burgh  stood  scowling.  Who  was  this  audacious 
pirate  who  had  cut  out  his  convoy  from  under  the  fire  of  his  angry 
e.es? 

'  "You  see,  my  dear,"  commenced  Mrs.  Needham,  in  a  low  voice 
and  speakin"' rapidly,  "  there  is  an  immense  field  to  be  cultivated 
in  the  humble  strata  of  the  better  working-class,  and  the  paper  I 
^ish  to  establish  will  be  quite  different  from  The  Qi,ec)>,  more  use- 
ful and  less  than  half-price.  No  stuff  about  fashionable  marriages 
in  print  that  is  enough  to  blind  an  eagle,  but  useful  receipts  and 
work  patterns,  domestic  information,  and  a  storv— a  story  is  a  great 
point — a  description  of  any  great  events,  and  fashion  plates,  etc." 
And  she  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  what  she  Avas  pleased  to  term 
"  facts  and  figures  "  till  Katherine  felt  fairly  bewildered. 

"It  seems  a  great  undertaking.  '  she  replied,  when  she  could  get 
a  word  in.  "  i  shall  require  a  great  deal  of  explanation  before  I  can 
comprehend  it.  Will  you  not  co\r\e  and  see  me  when  we  shall  be 
alone,  and  we  can  discuss  it  quietly?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Miss  Liddell— to-morrow.  No ;  to-morrow  I 
have  about  seven  or  eight  engagements  between  two  and  six-thirty. 
Let  me  see.  I  am  terribly  pressed  just  now  ;  I  will  Mrite  and  fix 
some  morning  if  you  will  come  and  lunch  with  me.  If  you  could 
see  your  way  to  taking  a  few  shares  it  would  be  a  great  help.  Monej-- 
— monev — money.  Without  the  filthy  lucre  nothi!>g  can  be  begun 
9r  end^.    Now  teJl  me  how  you  hnvQ  been.    I  hsive  been  coming  to 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  215 

■;see  you  for  months,  but  never  g-et  a  momont  to  myself  ;  "but  I  have 
heard  of  you  from  Mr.  Payne.  What  a  g-ood  fellow  he  is  !  How  is 
Miss  Payne?"  Katherine  replied,  and  Mrs.  Needham  rushed  on: 
"Nice  party,  isn't  it?  There  are  several  literary  people  here  to- 
nig-ht.  I  did  not  know  Lady  Barrington  went  in  for  literary  society, 
bnt  one  picks  up  a  little  of  all  sorts  when  you  live  abroad  for  a  while. 
llovL',  is  a  very  interesting*  man.  He  is  coming*  very  much  to  the 
front  as  a  political  and  philosophic  writer.  It  is  said  he  is  to  be  the 
editor  oi  The  Enipire,  that  new  monthly  which  they  say  is  to  take 
the  lead  of  all  the  mag'azines.  I  met  him  at  Professor  "Kean's  last 
week.  I  don't  think  he  sees  me — Good-evening- !  Don't  think  you 
remember  me— Mrs.  Needham.  Had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
you  at  Professor  Kean's  last  Monday.  Mr.  Erring-ton,  Miss 
Liddell !" 

' '  I  have  already  the  pleasure  of  knowing-  Miss  Liddell, "  he  returned, 
with  a  g-rave  smile  and  stately  bow,  as  he  took  the  hand  Katherine 
hesitating-ly  held  out. 

"Oh,  indeed;  I  was  not  aware  of  it."  Erring-ton  stood  talking- 
with  Mrs.  Needham,  or,  rather,  answering-  her  rapid  questions 
respecting-  a  variety  of  subjects,  until  she  suddenly  recog-nized  some 
one  to  whom  she  was  imperativelj'  compelled  to  speak,  w  ith  a  hasty, 
"Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  take  Miss  Liddell  to  her  friends?"  she 
darted  away  with  surprising  lightness  and  rapidity,  considering  her 
size  and  solidity. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  upstairs?"  asked  Errington. 

"If  you  please."  Katherine  was  quiverino- with  pain  and  pleas- 
ure at  finding  herself  thus  virtually  alone  with  the  man  whose  ima^-e 
haunted  her  in  spite  of  her  constant  determined  efforts  to  banish  "it 
from  her  mind. 

On  the  first  landing  was  a  conservatory  prettily  lit  and  decorated, 
and  larger  than  those  ordinarily  appended  to  London  houses.  "  Sup- 
pose we  rest  here,"  said  Errington.  "  From  the  quiet  which  reigns 
above,  I  think  some  one  is  reciting  and  that  is  not  an  exhilarating 
style  of  amusement." 

"  I  should  think  not.  I  have  never  heard  any  one  attempt  to  recite 
in  England." 

"  May  you  long  be  preserved  from  the  infliction  !  There  are  very 
few  who  can  make  recitation  endurable." 

After  some  enquiries  for  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ormonde,  and  a  few 
obsrvatioiis  on  the  beautiful,  abundant  flowers,  Errington  said: 
"Won't  you  sit  down?  If  it  is  not  unpleasant  to  you,  I  should 
like  to  improve  this  occasion,  as  I  rai-ely  have  an  opportunity  of  see- 
ing- you." 

Katherine  complied,  and  sat  down  on  a  settee  which  was  behind  a 
centiial  group  of  tall  feathery  ferns.  She  was  another  creature  from 
the  brignt  and  someAvhat  coquettish  o-irl  who  was  always  readv  to 
answer  De  Burgh  or  Colonel  Ormonde  with  keen  prompt  wit.  Silent, 
downcast,  scarcely  able  to  raise  her  eyes  to  Errington's,  yet  too  fasci- 
nated to  resist  his"^wish  to  continuetheir  interview. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you  here,"  began  Errington  in  his 
calm,  melodious  voice.  "It  is  so  much  better  for  you  to  mix 
with  your  kind ;  it  has  a  wholesome,  humanizing  influence, 
aud  m&y  I  venture  to  say  that  you  are  inclined  tg  t)©  morbid?" 


216  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

*'  Can  yon  wonder?"  said  Katherine,  soft  and  low. 
"  Yes,  I  do.    There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  brig^ht  and 
happy,  and  enjoy  the  goods  the  gods—"" 

"  No,"  she  interrupted,  playing  nervously-  with  the  flowers  in  her 
bouquet:  "  not  given  by  the  gods!  Stolen  from  you!"  She  did 
not  raise  her  eyes  as  she" spoke. 

"  I  do  beg  you  to  put  that  incident  out  of  your  mind.  We  have 
arranged  the  question  of  succession,  as  only  I  had  a  right  to  do.  No 
one  else  need  know,  and  you  will,  I  am  sure,  make  a  most  excellent 
use  of  what  is  now  really  yours.  Forget  the  past,  and  allow  me  to 
be  your  friend. " 

"■I  am  always  thinking  of  you,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
"Yet  it  is  ahvays  a  trial  to  meet  you,  I  think  I  would  rather  not. 
Tell  me,"  with  a  sudden  impulse  "of  tenderness  and  contrition,  look- 
ing up  to  him  with  humid  eves,  "  are  you  well  and  happy  ?  How 
have  you  borne  the  the  terrible  change  in  j^our  life  ?" 

"  I  am  perfectly  well  and  quite  happ\',"  returned  Errington,  with 
a  slight  smile.  "  The  terrible  chang-e,  as  you  term  it,  has  a'fectetl  me 
very  little.  I  find  real  work  most  exhilarating,  and  sli^-ht  success  is 
sweet.  Since  I  knew  that  the  tangle  of  my  poor  father  s  afairs  was 
satisfactorily  unravelled,  I  have  been  at  ease,  comparatively.  Life 
has  many  sides.     I  miss  most  my  horses. " 

"Ah,  yes,  you  must  miss  them  !  Well,  from  what  I  hear,  you 
seem  lo  be  making  a  place  for  yourself  in  literature.  I  am  so 
glad  !" 

"  Thank  jou.    And  you,  may  I  ask,  what  are  your  plans?" 

"  If  you  are  so  good  as  to  care,  I  am  going  to  take  a  house  and 
make  a  home  for  myself  and  my  little  nephews.  Without  any  for- 
mal agreement,  Mrs.  Ormonde  leaves  them  very  much  to  me.  They 
are  a  great  interest  to  me.  And  as  you  are  so  kind  in  wishing-  me 
to  be  happy  and  not  morbid,  I  will  try  to  forget.  I  think  I  could  be 
happier  if  you  would  promise  me  something." 

"What?" 

"  ]f  ever — "  She  hesitated  ;  her  voice  trembled.  "If  yoti  ever 
want  anything,"  she  hurried  on,  nervously,  "  anything,  even  to 
the  half  of  my  kingdom,  you  will  deign  to  accept  it  from  me?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Errington,  with  a  kind  and,  as  Katherine  imagine/1, 
a,  condescending  smile. 

"He  thinks  me  a  weak,  impulsive  child,  who  must  be  forgivo,*; 
because  she  is  scarcely  responsible,"  she  .said  to  herself. 

"And  this  preliminary  settled,  you  will  admit  me  to  the  honor  of 
your  acquaintance  ?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Errington,  do  not  think  me  ungrateful.  But  can  you 
not  understand  that,  good  and  generous  as  you  are,  your  presence 
overwhelms  me  ?" 

"  Then  I  will  not  intrude  upon  you.  Gently  and  very  gravely  I 
accept  your  decree." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  Katherine  said,  "  I  was  sure 
you  would  undex'stand  me."  As  she  spoke,  Da  Burgh  suddenly  came 
round  the  group  of  ferns  and  stood  before  them  with  an  air  of  dis- 
pleased surprise. 

"Why,  Miss  Liddell  !    I  thought  that  desperate  filibuster  in  re^ 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  2lT 

satin  had  carried  you  off.  I  have  sought  you  high  and  low.  How  d'ye 
do,  Errington  ?  Haven't  seen  you  this  age.  Mrs.  Ormonde  wants 
to  go  home,  Miss  Liddell." 

"  I  suppose  the  recitation  is  over,"  said  Errington,  coolly.  "I  will 
take  Miss  Liddell  to  Mrs.  Ormonde,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  some 
time." 

De  Burgh,  therefore,  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  walk  after  the  man 
whom  he  at  once  decided  was  a  dangerous  rival,  as  indeed  he  would 
have  considered  any  one  in  the  rank  of  a  gentleman. 

Mrs.  Ormonde  was  quite  charmed  to  see  Errington.  She  had  put 
him  rather  out  of  her  mind.  It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to  meet  him 
once  more  in  society,  for  she  had  a  sort  of  dim  idea  his  ruin  was  so 
complete  that  he  must  have  sold  his  dress  clothes  to  provide  food, 
and  could  never,  therefore,  hold  up  his  head  in  society  again. 

"  It  is  quite  nice  to  see  you  once  more  !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
sweet  smile,  after  they  had  exchang.'d  greetings.  "Colonel  Or- 
monde will  be  delighted  to  hear  of  you.  I  wish  you  could  come 
down  for  a  few  days'  hunting.  Do  give  me  your  address,  and  Duke 
will  write  to  you." 

"  There  is  my  address,"  he  said,  taking  out  his  card  case  and 
giving  her  a  card  ;  "but  I  fear  there  is  little  chance  of  my  getting 
out  of  town  till  long  after  the  hunting  is  over." 

"Oh,  you  must  try.  At  all  events,  come  and  see  me.  lamatThorne's 
Hotel,  Dover  Street,  and  almost  always  at  home  about  five.  But  I 
leave  town  next  week." 

Here  the  hostess  sailed  up,  and  touching  Errington's  arm,  said 
"  Sir  Arthur  Haynes,  the  great  authority  on  international  law,  you 
know,  wants  to  be  introduced  to  you,  Mr.  Errington." 

Mrs.  Ormonde  took  the  opportunity  of  saying  gcod-night,  and 
Katherine  took  farewell  of  Errington  with  a  bow, 

"  Twenty-foar,  Sycamore  Court  Temple.  What  a  come-down  for 
him  !"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde,  looking  at  the  card  she  held,  when  they 
reached  the  cloak-room. 

"  He  seems  cheerful  enough,''  said  Katherine,  irritated  at  the  tone 
in  which  the  observation  was  made  ;  "and  I  thought  the  Temple 
was  rather  a  smai-t  place  to  live  in." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  knoAv.  Come,  it  must  be  late.  "What  a  stupid 
party  !  How  cross  De  Burgh  looks  !  I  am  sure  he  has  a  horrid 
temjKir." 

In  the  hall  Captain  Darrell  and  De  Burgh  awaited  them.  The 
latter  was  too  angry  to  speak.  He  handed  Katherine  into  the  car- 
riage, and  uttering  a  brief  good-night.  stepp:!d  back  to  make  way 
for  Captain  Darrell,  who  expressed  his  ph>,a.sure  at  having  met  Mrs. 
Ormonde,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  call  next  day. 

On  the  whole,  Katherine  felt  comforted  by  the  assurance  of  Er- 
rington's friendly  feeling  toward  her.  How  cruel  it  was  to  be 
obliged  thus  to  reject  his  kindly  advances  !  But  it  was  wiser.  If 
she  met  him  often,  what  would  become  of  her  determination  to  steel 
her  heart  against  the  extraordinary  feeling  he  had  awakened?  Be- 
sides, it  could  only  be  the  wonderful  patient  benevolence  of  his 
nature  which  made  him  take  any  notice  of  her.    In  his  own  mind 


218  A  CROOKED  PATH, 

contempt  could  be  the  only  feeling-  she  awakened.    No  ;  the  less  she 
saw  of  nlm,  the  better  for'her. 

By  the  time  De  Burgh  called  to  escort  Katherine  and  Mrs.  Or- 
monde (who  had  dined  with  her)  to  the  theatre  he  had  conquered 
the  extreme,  though  unreasonable,  annoyance  which  had  seized  him 
on  findiug-  Erring-ton  and  Katherine  in  apparently  confidential  con- 
versation. He  exerted  himself  therefore  to  be  an  agreeable  host 
with  success. 

A  play  was  the  amusement  of  all  others  which  delighted  Kather- 
ine and  drew  her  out  of  herself.  De  Burgh  was  diverted  and  Mrs. 
Ormonde  half  ashamed  of  the  profound  interest,  the  entire  attention, 
with  which  she  listened  to  the  dialogue  and  awaited  the  denoue- 
ment. 

"  I  should  have  thought  n'ou  had  seen  too  mxxch  good  acting  abroad 
to  be  so  delighted  with  this,"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde. 

*'But  this  is  excellent,  and  the  style  is  so  new  I  have  to  thank  you, 
Mr.  De  Bur^h,  for  a  delightful  evening." 

"  The  same  to  you,"  he  returned.  "  Seeing  you  enjoy  it  so  much 
woke  me  up  to  the  merits  of  the  thing." 

The  supper  was  bright  and  lively.  Three  men  besides  himself, 
and  a  cousin,  a  prettj',  chatty  woman  of  the  orld,  completed  De 
Burgh's  party.  There  was  plenty  of  lauo-hing  andcliaffing.  Kath- 
erine felt  seized  by  a  feverish  desire  to  shake  off  dull  care,  to  forget 
the  past,  to  be  as  other  women  were.  There  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  not.  So  she  hiug-hed  and  talked  with  unusual  animation, 
and  treated  her  host  with  kindly  courtesy,  that  set  his  deep  eyes 
aglow  with  hope  and  pleasure. 

"  It  is  a  "-reat  advantage  to  be  rich,"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde,  reflec- 
tively, as  she  leaned  comfortably  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  which 
conveyed  her  and  her  sister-in-law  home.  She  was  always  a  little 
nettleii  when  she  found  how  completely  Katherine  had  effaced  her- 
self from  De  Burgh's  fickle  mind.  She  had  been  highl}-  pleased  with 
the  idea  of  having  her  husband's  distinguished  relative  for  a  virtuous 
and  despairing  adorer,  and  his  dv_'S3rtion  had  mortified  her  con- 
siderably. 

"Yes,  money  is  certainly  a  great  help,"  returned  Katherine, 
scarce  heeding  what  she  said. 

"  It  certainly  has  been  to  you,  Katie.  Don't  think  me  disagree- 
able for  suggestin"-  it,  but  do  you  suppose  De  Burgh  would  show  you 
all  this  devotion  if  you  were  to  lose  your  money  /"' 

"  Oh  no  !  He  could  not  afford  it.  He  told  ine  he  must  marry  a 
rich  woman." 

"Did  he,  really  ?  It  is  just  like  him.  What  audacity  !  I  wonder 
you  ever  spoke  to  him  again.  Then  you  are  going  in  for  rank, 
Katherine  ?'' 

"  How  can  you  tell  ?  I  don't  know  myself.  Good-night.  I  shall 
tell  you  whenever  I  know  my  own  mind." 

"  She  is  as  close  as  wax,  with  all  her  frankness,"  thought  Mrs. 
Ormonde  as  she  went  up  to  her  room,  after  taking  an  affectionate 
leave  of  her  sister-in-law. 

The  boys  at  school,  Katherine  found  time  hung  somewhat  heavily 
on  her  hands— a  condition  of  things  only  too  favorable  to  thought 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  219 

and  visions  of  what  *'  might  have  been."  So,  with  the  earnest  hope 
of  finding-  the  exhilarations  which  might  lead,  through  forgetfulness, 
to  the  happiness  she  so  eageraly  craved,  Katharine  accepted  almost 
all  the  invitations  which  were  soon  showered  upon  her.  At  the 
houses  of  acquaintances  she  had  made  abroad  she  made  numerous 
new  ones,  who  were  quite  ready  to  fete  the  handsome,  sweet-voiced, 
pleasant-mannered  heiress,  who  seemed  to  think  so  little  about  her- 
self. 

"Just  the  creature  to  be  imposed  upon,  my  dear !"  as  eachfeother 
whispered  to  the  one  next  her,  thinking,  of  course,  of  the  other's 
son. 

But  her  most  satisfactory  hours  were  those  spent  with  Rachel, 
when  they  talked  of  the  business,  and  often  branched  off  to  more 
abstract  subjects.    To  the  past  they  never  alluded.    Katharine  was 

glad  to  see  that  the  dead,  hopeless  expi-ession  of  Rachel  Trant's  eyes 
ad  changed,  yet  not  altogether  for  g-ood.  A  certain  degree  of  alert- 
ness had  briglitenad  them,  but  with  it  had  come  a  hard,  steady  look, 
as  though  the  spirit  within  had  a  special  work  to  do,  and  was  steeled 
and  "  straitened  till  it  be  accomplished." 

"  You  are  quite  a  clever  accountant,  Rachel,"  said  Katherine,  one 
afternoon  in  e".rly  ../ril,  after  they  had  gone  through  the  books 
together.  "  You  have  been  established  nearly  five  months,  and 
you  have  paid  expenses  and  a  trifle  over." 

"  It  is  not  bad.  Then,  you  see,  the  warehouses  will  give  me  credit 
for  the  next  orders,  three  months'  credit,  and  my  orders  are  inci'eas- 
ing.  I  am  sure  it  is  of  great  importance  to  have  materials  for 
customers  to  choose  from.  Ladies  like  to  be  saved  the  trouble  of 
shopping,  and  I  can  give  a  dress  at  a  more  moderate  rate,  if  I  pro- 
vide everything,  than  they  can  buy  it  piecemeal.  I  hope  to  double 
the  business  this  season,  and  pay  you  a  good  percentage.  Even  on 
credit  I  can  ventui-e  to  order  a  fair  supply  of  goods." 

"Don't  try  credit  yet,  Rachel,"  said  Katherine,  earnestly.  "I 
can  give  you  a  check "^now,  and  after  this  you  can  stand  alone." 

•'Are  you  quite  sure  you  can  do  this  without  inconvenience ?" 
asked  Rachel.  "If  vou  can,  I  will  accept  it.  I  begin  to  feel  sure  I 
shall  be  able  to  develop  a  good  business  and  what  will  prove  valuable 
property  to  you.  It  is  an  ambition  that  has  quite  filled  my  heart, 
and  in  Sevoting  myself  to  it  I  have  found  the  first  relief  from  despair 
—a  despair  that  {assessed  my  soul  whenever  you  were  out  of  my 
si^-ht.  When  I  am  not  thinking  of  gowns  and  garnitures,  I  am 
adding  up  all  the  money  you  have  sunk  in  this  adventure,  and 
planning  how  it  may  ultimately  pay  you  six  per  cent,  over  and 
above  expenses.  It  does  not  sound  a  very  heroic  style  of  gratitude, 
but  it  is  practical,  and  1  believe  feasible. ' 

"You  are  intensely  real,"  said  Katherine,  "and  I  believe  yam' 
will  be  successful." 

After  discussing  a  few  more  points  connected  with  the  undertak- 
ing they  parted,  and  before  Katherine  dressed  for  dinner  she  wrote 
an^  despatched  the  promised  ch(^ck. 

De  Burgh  had  throughout  this  period  conducted  himself  with  pru- 
dence and  discretion.  He  often  called  about  tea-time,  and  frequently 
managed  to  meet  Katherine  in  the  evening,  but  he  carefully  maia-r 


220  A  CROOKED  PATa 

tained  a  frank,  friendly  tone,  even  when  expressing  in  his  natural 
brusque  way  his  admiration  of  herself  or  her  dress.  He  talked 
pleasantly  to  MissPayne,  and  subscribed  to  many  of  Bertie's  charities. 
Katherine  was  getting  quite  used  to  him,  though  they  disagreed  and 
argued  a  gooti  deal.  She  sometimes  tried  to  persuade  herself  that 
De  Burgh  had  given  up  his  original  pretentions  and  would  be  satis- 
tied  with  platonics.  But  her  inner  consciousness  rejected  the  theory. 
Still,  De  Burgh  came  to  be  recognized  as  a  favored  suitor  by  society, 
and  the  "  mothers,  the  cousins,  and  the  aunts  "  of  eligible  young  men 
shook  their  heads  over  the  mistake  she  was  making. 

Now,  after  mature  consideration,  Katherine  determined  to  make 
the  will  she  had  so  long  postponed,  and  bequeath  all  she  possessed  to 
Errington.  It  was  rather  a  formidable  undertaking  to  announce 
this  intention  to  Mr.  Newton,  who  would  be  sure  to  be  surprised  and 
interrogative,  but  she  would  do  it.  Having,  therefore,  made  an 
appointment  with  him,  she  screwed  up  her  courage  and  set  out, 
accompanied  by  Miss  Payne,  who  had  been  laid  up  with  a  cold,  and 
was  venturing  ou*  for  the  first  time.  She  took  advantage  of 
Katherine's  brougham  to  have  a  drive.  The  morning  wa^  very 
line,  and  they  started  early,  early  enough  to  allow  Miss  Payne 
to  leave  the  carriage  and  walk  a  little  in  the  sun  on  "the  Ladies' 
Mile." 

As  they  proceeded  slowly  along,  a  well-appointed  phaeton  and  pair 
of  fine  steppers  passed  them.  It  was  occupied  by  two  gentlemen,  one 
old,  gray,  bent,  and  closely  Avrapped  up  ;  the  other  vigorous,  dark, 
erect,  held  the  reins.  He  lifted  his  hat  as  he  passed  Katherine  and  her 
companion  with  a  swift,  pleased  smile. 

"Who  are  those  women  ?"  asked  the  old  gentleman,  in  a  thick 
growl. 

"Miss  Liddell  and  her  companion." 

"Bv  George!  she  looks  like  a  gentlewoman.  Turn,  and  let  us 
pass  tliem  again." 

De  Bui-gh  obeyed,  and  slackened  speed  as  hewentby.  At  the  sound 
of  the  horses'  tramp  Katherine  turned  her  head  and  gave  De  Burgh 
a  bright  smile  and  gracious  bow. 

"  She  is  wonderfully  good-looking  for  an  heiress,"  remarked  I/n'd 
de  Burgh,  who  was,  of  course,  the  wrapped-up  old  gentleman.  "I 
should  say  something  for  you  if  you  could  show  such  a  woman 
with  sixty  or  seventy  thousand  behind  her  as  your  ^^  ife. 
Why  dont  you  go  in  and  win?  Don't  let  the  grass  grow  under 
your  feet." 

"  It  is  easier  said  than  done.  Mi.ss  Liddell  is  not  an  ordinary  sort 
of  young  lady  ;  she  is  not  to  be  hurried.  But  I  do  not  despair,  by 
any  means,  of  winning  her  yet.  If  I  press  my  .suit  too  .soon,  I  may 
lose  my  chance.    Trust  me,  it  won't  be  my  fault  if  I  fail." 

"  I  see  .\  ou  are  in  earnest,"  said  the  old  man,  "and  I  believe  you'll 
win." 

De  Burgh  nodded,  and  whipped  up  his  horses. 

"That  must  be  the  old  lord,"  said  Miss  Payne,  as  the  phaeton 
passed  out  of  si^ht.  "Mr.  Do  Biirgh  seems  in  high  favor.  I 
cannot  help  liking  him  myself.  There  is  no  nonsense 
about   him,    and   he   is   quite  "a  gentleman  in  spite  of  his  bms- 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  22l 

"Yes,  I  think  he  is,"  said  Katherine,  thoug-htfully,  and  walked  on 
a  little  while  in  silence.  Then  Miss  Payne  said  she  felt  tired ;  so  they 
got  into  the  carriag-e  ag-ain  and  drove  to  Mr.  Newton's  office.  There 
Katherine  alig-hted,  and  desired  the  driver  to  take  Miss  Payne  horae 
and  return  for  herself. 

"And  what  is  your  business  to-day  ?"  asked  Mr.  Newton,  when, 
after  a  cordial  g-reeting",  his  fair  client  had  taken  a  chair  beside  his 
knee-hole  table." 

"A  rather  serious  matter,  I  assure  you.  I  want  to  make  my 
will." 

"  Very  rig-ht,  very  rig-ht ;  it  will  not  bring"  you  any  nearer  your 
last  hour  and  it  oug'ht  to  be  done. "  ' 

■    The  lawyer  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  to  him,  and  prepared  to  "  take 
instructions." 

"I  should  like  to  leave  several  small  legacies,"  began  Katherine, 
"  and  have  put  down  the  names  of  those  I  wish  to  remember,  with 
the  amounts  each  is  to  receive.  If  you  read  over  this  paper  "  (hand- 
ing* it  to  him)  "  we  can  discuss '' 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  tap  at  the  door  which  faced  her,  but  was 
on  Newton's  left.  A  hig'h  screen  protected  theold  lawyer  from  draughts, 
and  prevented  him  from  seeing- who  entered  until  the  visitor  stood 
before  him. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Newton,  peevishly  ;  and  as  a  clerk  presented  him- 
self, added,  "What  do  you  want?" 

"Beg  pardon,  sir.  A  gentleman  downstairs  wants  to  see  you  so 
very  particularly  that  he  insisted  on  my  coming  up." 

"Weil,  say  I  can't,  I  am  particularly  engaged.  He  must 
wait." 

While  he  spoke  Katherine  saw  a  man  cross  the  threshold,  a  tall, 
gaunt  man,  slightly  stooped.  His  clothes  hung  loosely  on  him,  but 
they  were  new  and  good.  His  hair  was  iron  gray,  and  thin  on  his 
craggy  temples.  Something  about  his  watchful,  stern  eyes,  his 
close-shut  mouth,  and  strong,  clean-shaven  jaw  seemed  not  un^familiar 
to  Katherine,  and  she  was  strangely  struck  and  interested  in  his 
aspect.  Mr.  Newton's  last  words  evidently  reached  his  ear,  for  he 
answered,  in  deep,  harsh  tones,  "  No,  Newton,  I  will  not  wait !"  and 
walked  in,  pausing  exactly  opposite  the  lawyer,  who  grew  grayly 
pale,  and  starting  from  his  seat,  leaned  both  hands  on  the  table, 
while  he  trembled  visibly,  "My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  hoarsely; 
"  George  Liddell !" 

"  Ay,  George  Liddell !    I  thought  you  would  know  me." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A     traveller' S     STORY. 

When  the.se  startling  sentences  penetrated  to  Katherine's  compre- 
hension she  saw  as  with  a  flas!i  their  far-reaching  consequences.  Hei 
uncle's  will  suppressed,  his  son  and  natural  heir  would  take  every- 
tluBg.    And  her  dear  boys— how  would  they  fare? 


222  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

She  sat  with  wide-dilated  eyes,  gazing  at  the  hard,  displeased  face 
of  this  unwelcome  intruder.  There  were  a  few  moments  of  profound 
silence ;  the  old  lawyer's  hands,  which  relax t-d  their  grasp  of  his 
chair  as  he  looked  with  stai'tled  amazement  at  his  late  client's  son, 
visibly  trembled. 

Liddell  was  the  first  to  speak.  "So  you  thought  I  was  dead  and 
out  of  the  way,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer  ;  "  that  nothing  would  happen 
to  disturb  th  J  fortunate  possessor  of  my  father's  m  jiiey.  I  was  dead 
and  done  for,  and  a  good  riddance.'' 

"  But  how— how  is  it  that  you  are  alive !"  stammered  Mr. 
Newton. 

"Oh,  that  I  can  easily  account  for."  And  he  looked  round  for 
a  chair. 

"  Yes,  pray  sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Newton,  recovering  himself. 

Here  Katherine.  with  the  unconscious  tact  of  a  sensitive  woman, 
feeling  how  terrible  it  must  be  to  find  one's  continued  existence  a 
source  of  regret  to  others,  rose  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Let  me, 
your  kinswoman,"  she  said,  "  welcome  you  back  to  life  and  home. 
I  hope  there  are  many  happy  years  before  you." 

Liddell  was  greatly  surprised.  He  mechanically  took  the  hand 
offered  to  him,  and  looking  earnestly  into  her  face,  exclaimed, 
"Who  are  you?" 

"  Katherine  Liddell,  your  uncle  Frederic's  daught^er." 

He  dropijed— indeed,  almost  threw— her  hand  from  him.  "  What!" 
he  cried,  "are  ijou  the  supplanter,  who  took  all  without  an  inquiry, 
without  an  effort  to  find  out  if  I  were  dead  or  alive?" 

"  Sit  down— sit  down— sit  down,"  repeated  Newton,  still  confused. 
"Let  us  talk  over  everything.  As  to  trying  to  find  you,  we  never 
dreamed  of  finding  you,  considering  that  twelve,  fourteen  years 
ago  we  had  an  account  of  your  death  from  an  eye  witness." 

"  Cowardly  liar  !  It  was  worth  a  Jew's  ransom  to  see  him  turn 
white  and  drop  into  a  chair  when  1  confronted  him  the  day  before 
yesterday." 

"  Why  did  you  not  communicate  with  me  on  hearing  of  your 
father's  death  ?" 

"  When  do  you  think  I  heard  of  it?  Do  you  fancy  I  sat  down  in 
the  midst  of  niy  busy  day  to  pore  over  the  births,  deaths,  and  mar- 
riages in  a  papjr,  like  a  gossiping  woman?  Kith  and  kin  were  d  ad 
to  me  long  ago.  What  did  J  care  for  English  papers?  What  had 
mv  life  or  the  life  of  my  poor  mother  been  that  1  should  give  those 
1  had  left  behind  a  tiiouglit?"  He  paused,  and  taking  a  chair,  looked 
very  straight  at  Katherine.  "Now  I  shall  tell  you  my  story,  once 
for  all,  to  show  you  that  there  is  no  use  in  disputing  ray  rights. 
You  know  "— addre-ssing  Newton— "how  my  life  was  made  a  burden 
to  me,  and  that  I  ran  away  to  sea,  ready  to  throw  myself  into  it 
rather  than  return  to  my  miserable  home.  After  several  voyages 
I  found  myself  at  Sydney.  A  young  f(!lIo\v  who  had  been  my  mate 
on  the  voyage  out,  an  active,  clever  chap,  proposed  that  weshould 
start  for  the  gold  fields  ;  so  we  started.  It  was  a  desperate  long 
tramp,  but  we  reached  them  at  last.  Life  was  hard  and  rougii,  and 
for  a  time  we  worked  and  worked,  and  got  nothing.  At  last  we  found 
a  pocket,  just  as  we  were  going  to  give  up,  and  having  secured  a 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  223 

fair  lot  of  gold,  we  divided  our  'gains  and  determined  to  leave  the 
camp,  which  was  not  too  safe  for  a  successful  digger,  before  the  rest 
knew  of  our  treasm-e-trove.  We  decided  to  t  rudg-e  i  t  to  the  nearest  place 
where  we  could  buy  horses,  and  then  to  make  our  way  to  Sydney  as  fast 
as  we  could.  Somehow  it  must  have  got  out  that  we  harl  gold,  for 
as  the  dusk  of  evening  was  closing  round  us  on  the  second  dav  of 
our  march  we  were  attacked  by  some  men  on  horsaback— bush- 
rangers, I  suppose.  Wc  showed  fight,  and  I  was  hit  in  the  shoulder. 
At  the  same  time  I  stumbled  over  a  stump,  and  pitched  on  to  my 
head,  Avhich  stunned  mo.  Just  then,  it  seems,  the  sound  of  horses 
approaching  frightened  the  scoundrels,  and  they  made  oft".  My 
mate,  not  knoAving  whether  the  new-com.ors  were  friends  or  foes,  he 
says,  got  away  as  fast  as  h  \  could.  His  story  is  that  as  soon  as  all 
was  still  he  crept  back,  and  finding  me  apparently  quite  dead,  went 
on  to  report  the  catastrophe  at  the  first  road-side  mn  he  came  to.  1 
believe  that,  thinking  me  dead,  betook  all  my  gold,  and  said  precious 
little  about  me." 

"His  story  to  me,"  interrupted  Mr.  Newton,  "was  that 
he  g'ot  assistance  and  buried  your  remains  as  decently  as  he 
could." 

' '  What  induced  him  to  apply  to  you  at  all?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  fancy  it  was"  to  hand  over  a  few  small  nugg-ets, 
which  he  said  was  your  share  of  the  findings,  and  which  he  took 
from  your  waistband  before  committing  you  to  the  grave.  As  he 
seeme'dfrank  and  straightforwardand  quite  poor,  1  confess  I  believed 
him,  and  even  requested  Mr.  Liddell  to  give  him  some  small  present. 
He  said  he  was  going  afloat  again,  and  would  sail  in  a  few  days. 
He  had  an  old  clasp-knife  which  I  myself  had  given  you,  and  with 
it  a  small  pocket-book  in  which  your  name  and  my  address  were 
written  in  your  own  hand.  These  were  tolerably  convincing  proofs 
that  he  at  least  knew  you.  Moreover,  there  seemed  no  need  what- 
ever that  he  should  have  made  any  attempt  to  communicate  with  your 
Eeople.  He  might  have  held  his  "tongue,  and  no  question  would  nave 
een  raised  respecting  you." 

"  You  are  right,"  returned  Liddell,  bitterly. 

"And  how  did  you  escape?"  asked  Slatherine,  with  eager 
interest. 

"He— this  Tom  Dunford— f7/f?  go  to  the  next  inn  and  told  of  the 
attack  ;  he  even  guided  some  men  to  the  spot,  and  left  thnn  to  burv 
me,  because  he  was  obliged  to  hurry  on  to  Sydney  ;  but  I  believe  he 
returned,  before  going  to  the  inn,  and  robbed  me.  Anyhow  I  Avas 
not  killed  by  the  bullet,  but  stunned  by  the  fall.  Someof  the  fellows 
who  came  with  Tom  fancied  I  did  not  seem  quite  dead.  Finally  I 
recovered,  and  instead  of  digging  for  gold  my.self,  got  others  to  dig 
for  me.  I  setup  an  inn  and  a  store,  with  the  help  of  an  American 
whose  daughter  I  married,  and  now  I  am  rich  enough  to  be  a  for- 
midable foe.  I  have  a  little  girl,  and  when  my  wife  died  I  determined 
to  realize  everything,  to  come  to  England,  and  have  the  child  brought 
up  as  an  English  lady.  On  the  voyage  home  I  fell  in  with  a  man 
— afelloAv  of  the  rolling-stone  order— to  whom  I  used  to  talk  now 
and  again.  He  turned  out  to  be  the  brother  of  one  of  your  clerks, 
and  from  him  I  heard  that  my  father  had  died  intestate,  that  my 


224  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

cousin  had  taken  possession  of  everything",  and  that  I  was  looked 
upon  as  dead.  Did  you  never  attempt  to  prove  the  truth  of  Tom 
Dunford's  storv  ?'' 

"  We  did.  1  communicated  with  the  police  of  Sydney,  and  they 
found  that  there  had  been  a  tight  between  bush-rang-ers  and  diggers 
returning  from  Woollamaroo  at  the  time  and  place  specified  ;  more- 
over, that  one  of  the  diggers  was  l<illed,  while  the  other  #,caped,  but 
further  nothing  was  known.  The  man  who  kept  the  inn  mentioned 
by  Dunford  had  made  money  and  moved  off,  so  tne  track  was  broken. 
Then  all  these  years  you  made  no  sign.  Did  you  not  see  the  adver- 
tisements I  put  in  an  Australian  paper?" 

"  No  ;  I  was  far  away  from  any  town,  and  rarelv  saw  any  but  the 
American  papers  which  came  to  my  master.  Well,  here  I  am,  de- 
termined to  have  every  inch  of  my' rights,  let  who  will  stand  in  my 
way  ;  and  you  "—looking  fiercely  into  Newton's  eyes— "shall  be  my 
first  witness." 

"I  cannot  denv  that  I  recognize  you,"  said  Newton,  reluc- 
tantly. 

Liddell  laughed  scornfully.  "And  you?"  turning  to  Kath- 
erine. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  my  cousin  George." 

"Eight !  As  to  that  fellow  Tom— he  would  never  have  hurt  me, 
but  I  am  sure  he  robbed  me,  especially  if  he  thought  I  was  dead. 
His  gur^  Avas  to  hold  himself  harmless  whether  I  lived  or  died,  only 
he  ought  not  to  have  committed  himself  to  seeing  me  buried.  I 
found  him  out  in  Liverpool,  and  gave  him  a  fright,  for  he  really 
believed  me  dead.  Now,  cousin,  I  hope  vou  understand  that  I  mean 
to  take  every  farthing  of  my  father's  fortune.  He  never  did  me 
much  good  in  my  life,  nor  my  poor  mother  either,  and  I  am  deter- 
mined to  get  all  I  can  out  of  what  he  has  left  behind  him. 
But  I  never  dreamed  he  could  pass  away  without  taking 
care  that  nothing  should  come  to  me.  It  is  strange  that  your 
mother  and  my  uncle  should  make  no  fresh  attempt  to  discover 
me." 

"  We  had  looked  upon  you  as  dead  for  years,  and  my  father  had' 
died  before  the  news  of  your  supposed  murder  reached  us. "  Kath- 
erine  could  hardly  steady  her  voice  ;  she  was  burning  to  get  away. 
"I  beg  you  will  not  resent  the  fact  of  my  most  unconscious  .usurpa- 
tion. I  would  not  do  anything  unjust."  ^  She  stopped,  remembering 
what  she  had  done.  Surely  the  punishment  was  coming  ouick  upon 
her.  "  ! 

"  Ay,"  said  George  Liddell,  looking  sternly  at  her.  "  It  is  a  bitter 
pill  for  a  fine  lady  like  you  to  swallow,  to  find  a  ragged  outcast  like 
me  thrusting  you  from  the  place  vou  have  no  right  to,  where; 
my  poor  little  wild  untutored  girl  will  take  her  stand  in  spite  of. 
you  all."  i 

"  From  what  I  have  heard,  I  do  not  think  my  father  or  moth«r1 
ever  treated  you  as  an  outcast,"  said  Katherine,  with  quiet  dignitv ;] 
adding,  as  she  rose  to  leave  them,  "  You  seem  so  irritated  agaiiiBtl 
me  I  will  leave  you  with  Mr.  Newton,  who  will,  I  know,  act  as  a  trW 
friend  to  both  of  us."  i 

Mr>  Newton,  with  a  ^rave  and  troubled  face,  hast^ied  »#l«r  t«  m^ 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  *  >  225 

her  to  her  carriage.    "This  is  an  awful  blow!"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"It  is,  no  doubt.  Do  you  think,  as  he  is  already  rich, 
that  he  might  do  somsthing  for  th3  boys  ?  Then  I  should  not 
care." 

"  The  boys  !"— impatiently.  "You  need  not  trouble  about  them 
when  he  has  the  power  to  roh  you  even  of  the  trifle  you  inherit  from 
your  father  by  demanding  the  arrears  of  income  since 
your  uncle's  death,  as  he  has  the  right  to  do.  Why,  he  can  beggar 
you !" 

"Indeed !    He  looks  like  a  hard  man  ;  he  is  like  his  father." 

"Well,  trust  me,  I  will  do  my  best  for  you." 

"  I  know  you  will,"  returned  Katherine,  pressing  the  old  lawyer's 
hand  as  he  leaned  against  thi  car.  iage  door. 

"Good-by  !  God  bless  you  !''  he  returned  ;  and  Katherine  was 
carried  away  from  him.  Slowly  and  sadly  the  old  man  ascended  to 
his  office  again  to  confront  the  angry  claimant,  who  awaited  him 
impatiently. 

Meantime  Katherine  was  striving  to  think  clearly,  to  rouse  her- 
self from  the  stunned,  bewildered  condition  into  which  the  appear- 
ance of  George  Liddell  had  thrown  her,  and  which  Mr.  Newton's 
woi'ds  increased.  What  was  to  become  of  Cis  and  Charlie  if  she 
were  beggared?  She  could  not  face  the  prospect.  There  was  still  a 
way  of  escape  left,  a  glimpse  of  which  had  been  given  to  her  as  she 
listened  to  her  cousin's  vindictive  utterances.  If  she  could  prevail 
on  Errington  to  produce  the  will  and  assert  his  right,  he  would  pro- 
vide for  those  poor  innocent  boys,  and  never  ask  her  for  any  of  the 
money  she  had  spent.  Maybe  he  would  share  with  George  himself. 
She  must  see  Errington  at  once,  and  with  the  strictest  secrecy.  Her 
thoughts  cleared  as,  bit  by  bit,  her  plan  unfolded  itself  in  her  busy- 
brain.  Then  she  made  up  her  mind.  Touching  the  check-string, 
she  desired  the  driver  to  stop  at  a  small  fancy  ware  and  stationer's 
shop  near  Miss  Payne's  house.  Arrived  there,  she  dismissed  the 
carriage,  saying  she  would  walk  home. 

"  Give  me  paper  and  an  envelope;  I  want  to  write  a  few  lines,'* 
she  said  to  the  smiling  shopwoman,  who  knew  her  to  be  one  of  their 
best  customers. 

Having  traced  a  few  word.?  entreating  Errington  to  see  her  early- 
next  day— should  he  happ/n  to  be  out  or  engaged— she  hailed  a  han- 
some,  and  went  as  quickly  as  she  could  to  his  lodgings  in  the 
Temple. 

It  was  (juite  different,  this  second  visit,  from  the  first.  He  now 
knew  all,  and  in  spite  of  her  fears  and  profound  uneasiness  she  felt 
a  thrill  of  pleasure  at  the  id«a  of  the  necessity  for  taking  coimsel 
with  him,  the  prospect  of  half  an  hour's  undisturbed  communication, 
of  hearing  his  voice,  and  feeling  his  kind  forgiving  glance.  Still  it 
was  an  awful  trial  too— to  tell  him  the  upshot  of  her  dishonesty,  the 
confusion  she  had  wrought  by  her  deviation  into  a  crooked  path. 
She  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot  by  the  time  she  reached  Er- 
rington's  abode. 

A  severe-looking  woman,  a  care-taker  apparently,  was  on  the  stair 
a9  Katherine  ascended,  feeling  dreadfully  puzzled  what  to  do,  a^ 


226  '  A  CnOOKED  PATH. 

she  feared  kaving  to  knock  in  vain  and  go  away  without  leaving 
her  note. 

'  *  Can  you  tell  me  if  Mr.  Erring  ton  is  at  home  ?"  she  asked,  timidly, 
quite  frightened  at  the  sound  of  her  own  voice  in  so  strange  a 
place. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  miss.  I  dare  say  he's  gone  out.  He  is 
up  the  next  flight." 

"  May  I  ^sk  you  to  inquire  if  he  is  in  ?  If  not,  wotild  you  be  so 
kind  as' to  leave  this  note  ?" 

The  woman  took  it  with  a  rather  discontented  suspicious  air,  but 
finding  it  was  accompanied  by  a  coin  of  the  realm,  went  on  her 
errand  with  great  alacrity.     Katherine  followed  slowly. 

"  You're  to  walk  up  at  once ;  he's  hin,"  said  the  emissary,  meet- 
ing her  at  the  top  of  the  stair. 

At  the  deor  stood  Errington,  her  note  in  his  hand,  and  a  serious, 
uneasy  expression  on  his  countenance.  Katherine  was  very  white  ; 
her  eyes  were  dilated  with  a  look  of  fear  and  distress. 

"  Pray  come  in,"  said  Errington  ;  and  he  closed  the  door  behind 
her.  "  I  fear  you  are  in  some  difficulty.  You  can  speak  without 
reserve  ;  I  am  quite  alone.'' 

Katherine  was  aware  of  passing  through  a  small  room  Avith  doors 
right  and  left,  and  possessing  only  a  couple  of  chairs  and  a  small 
table  ;  through  this  Errington  led  her  to  his  sitting-room,  which  was 
almost  lined  with  books,  and  comfortably  furnished.  He  placed  a 
chair  for  her,  and  returned  to  his  own  seat  by  a  table  at  which  he  had 
been  writing. 

"The  last  time  I  came  it  was  in  the  hope  of  assisting  you  by  my 
confession  ;  now  I  have  come  to  beg  for  your  help—"  She  stopped 
abruptly.  "  My  uncle's  son  George,  who  was  believed  to  have  been 
killed  by  bush-rangers  in  Australia  more  than  fourteen  yeai's  ago, 
has  returned,  alive  and  well." 

"  But  can  he  prove  his  identity?" 

"I  was  with  Mr.  Newton  when  became  into  the  office,  and  the 
moment  Mr.  Newton  saw  him  he  started  up,  exclaiming,  'George 
Liddell !'  and  I— I  saw  the  likeness  to  his  father." 

"Did  Newton  know  him  formerly?" 

"Yes  ;  he  seems  to  have  been  almost  hisonly  friend." 

"  How  was  it  he  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  and  assert  his  rights 

before?" 

"I will  tell  you  all."  And  she  went  on  to  describe  the  interview 
which  had  just  taken  place,  the  curious  vindictive  spirit  which  her 
cousin  displayed,  his  very  recent  knowledo-e  of  his  father's  death, 
and  Mr.  Newton's  words'^of  warning,  "He  has  the  power  to  rob  you 
even  of  the  trifle  you  inherit  from  your  father,  by  demanding  the 
arrears  of  income"^ since  your  uncle's  death  ;  he  can  beggar  you." 

"No  doubt  he  can,  but  surely  he  will  not!''  exclaimed  Er- 
rington. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  if  he  can  he  will.  To  give  him  up  that 
which  is  his  is  quite  right,  and  will  not  cost  me  a  pang  ;  but  to  be 
penniless,  to  send  back  my  poor  dear  little  boys,  to  be  considered 
and  treated  as  burdens  by  their  mother  and  Colonel  Ormonde— oh,  I 
cannpt  bear  it !    I  know  'how  Charlie  would  be  crushed  and  Cecil 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  227 

would  be  hardened.  It  is  for  this  I  come  to  you  for  help.  Mr.  Er- 
ring-ton, I  implore  you  to  produce  the  will  Avhich  puts  this  cruelty 
out  of  Georg-e  Liddell's  power.  Surely  you  might  say  that  not 
liking  to  disinherit  me,  you  suppressed  "^it  ?  This  is  true,  you 
know." 

"  The  Avill !"  exclaimed  Erring-ton,  starting-  up  and  pacing-  the 
room  in  g-reat  agitation.  "My  God!  I  have  destroyed  it.  Think- 
ing it  safer  for  you  that  it  should  be  out  of  the  way,"  I  desti-oyed  it, 
and  by  so  doing  I  have  given  you,  bound  hand  and  foot,  into  the 
power  of  this  man.  Can  you  forg-ive  me?— can  you  ever  forgive 
me?"  He  took  and  Avrung  her  hand,  holding  it  for  a  moment,  wi.ile 
he  looked  imploringly  into  her  eyes. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do  heartily  forgive  you.  You  only  did  it  to  save  me 
from  any  chance  of  discovery.  If  only  George  Liddell  will  be  satis- 
fied not  to  claim  the  money  1  have  spent,  I  may  still  be  able  to  keep 
the  boys,  for  I  have  nearly  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year  quite 
my  own,"  cried  Katherine,  loosing  her  hand.  "Do  not  distress 
yourself,  Mr.  Errington.  I  know  Mr.  Newton  will  do  his  best  for 
me,  and  perhaps  my  cousin  will  not  exact  the  arrears.    He  says  he 

is  rich,  and  if  I  give  him  no  trouble "  she  paused,  for  she  could 

not  command  her  voice,  while  the  tears  were  already  glittering  in 
her  eyes.  Another  word  and  they  would  have  been  rolling  down 
her  cheeks. 

"  Don't  cry,  for  God's  sake  !"  said  Errington,  in  a  low  tone, 
resuming  his  seat.  "What  can  be  done  to  soften  this  fellow? 
Ah  !  Miss  Liddell,  we  are  quits  now.  If  you  robbed  me,  I  have 
ruined  you." 

"From  what  different  motives  !"  said  Katherine,  recovering  her 
self-control.     "  /  am  still  the  wrong-doer." 

How  heavenly  sweet  it  was  to  be  consoled  and  sympathized  with 
by  him  !  But  .she  dared  not  stay.  It  was  terribly  bold  of  her  to 
have  come  to  his  rooms,  only  he  would  never  misjudge  her,  and  she 
was  so  little  known  she  scarcely  feared  recognition  by  any  one  she 
might  meet. 

"Could  I  assist  Mr.  Newton  at  all  in  dealing  with  this  kins- 
man of  yours?"  resumed  Errington,  gazing  at  her  with  a  troubled 
look. 

"  I  fear  you  could  not.  How  are  you  to  knoAV  anything  of 
my  troubles  ?  No  one  dreams  that  you  have  any  knowledge  of 
my  affairs  ;  that  you  and  you  only  are  aware  what  an  impostor  I 
am." 

"You  are  expiating  your  offence  bitterly.  But  when  the  story 
of  this  George  Liddell  comes  out,  why  should  I  not,  as  the  son  of  his 
father's  old  friend,  make  his  acquaintance,  and  try  to  persuade  him 
to  forego  his  full  rights?" 

"You  might  try,"  said  Katherine,  dejectedly.  "Now  I  have 
trespassed  long  enough.  I  must  go.  I  have  to  explain  matters 
to  Miss  Payne,  and  I  feel  curioxisly  dazed.  Oh,  if  I  can  keep  the 
boys !" 

"  If  any  effort  of  mine  can  help  you,  it  is  my  duty  as  well  as  my 
sincere  pleasure  to  do  all  I  can." 

*'  Aaa  if  the  will  existed  would  you  have  acted  oa  it  ?" 


228  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Most  certainly— in  your  defence." 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Katherine,  her  eyes  lig'hting'  up,  her  tremulous 
lips  parting  in  a  smile.  "  Then  you  would  have  had  some  of  the 
money  too." 

"  Then  you  quite  forgive  me  ?"  again  rising,  and  coming  over  to 
stand  besiHe  her. 

"  You  must  feel  I  do,  Mr.  Errington.  Now  I  will  say  goed-by.  If 
you  can  help  me  with  George,  I  shall  be  most  grateful."*' 

"  Promise  that  you  will  look  on  me  as  one  of  your  most  devoted 
friends.    He  took  her  hand  again. 

"Can  you  indeed  feel  friendship  for  one  you  cannot  respect?" 
she  returned,  in  a  low  tone,  with  one  of  the  fjuiclc,  vivid 
blushes  which  usually  rose  to  her  cheek  when  she  was  much 
moved. 

"But  I  do  respect  you.  Why  should  I  not?  A  generous, 
impulsive  woman  like  you  cannot  be  judged  by  the  cold  max- 
ims of  exact  justice ;  you  must  be  tried  by  the'  higher  rules  of 
equity." 

"  1  ou  comfort  me,"  said  Katherine,  with  indescribably 
sweet  graceful  humility.  "  I  thank  you  heartily,  and  will  say 
good-by." 

"I  will  come  and  see  you  into  a  cab,"  returned  Errington,  feeling 
himself  anxious  that  no  one  should  recognize  her,  and  not  knowing 
■when  their  tete-a-tete  might  be  interrupted. 

They  went  out  together,  and  walked  a  little  way  is  silence.  "  You 
will  le*!;  me  come  and  see  you,  to  hear—"  began  Errington,  when 
Katherine  interrupted  him. 

"  Not  just  now.  I  think  we  had  better  not  seem  to  know  anything 
of  each  other,  or  perhaps  George  Liddell  may  suspect  j-ou  oi  being 
my  friend. " 

"I  see.  But  at  least  you  will  keep  me  informed  of  how  things 
go  on.  Remember  how  tormented  I  am  with  remorse  for  my  hasty 
act." 

' '  You  need  not  be.    But  I  will  write.    There— there  is  a  cab." 

Errington  hailed  it,  handed  her  in  carefully,  and  they  said  good-by 
with  a  sud'l?!n  sense  of  intimacy  which  months  of  ordinary  com- 
munication would  not  have  produced. 

It  was  a  very  soi-ious  undertaking  to  break  the'intelligence  to  Miss 
Payne,  and  |)!)or  Katherine  felt  quite  exhausted  before  her  exclama- 
tions, questions,  and  wonderings  were  half  over. 

On  one  or  two  points  Miss  Payne  at  once  made  up  her  mind,  nor 
had  she  ev^er  quite  al.er  hn-  opinion  :  This  man  representing  himself 
as  George  Lidd  "11  was  an  ini]):i?!tor  who  had  known  the  real  "  Simon 
Pui*e,"  and  got  himself  up  accor.lingly  as  soon  as  he  heard  that  Wvd 
late  John  Liddi-U  had  died  iiitfstati?  :  that  Mr.  Newton  was  a  weak- 
minded,  credalous  idiot  to  acknowledge  this  impostor  at  first  sight, 
if  he  were  not  a  double-dealing  traitor  read^'  to  play  into  the  hands 
of  the  new  c'aimant  He  ought  to  liavc  thrown  the  onus  of  proof  on 
7u>//,  instead  of  acknowledging  his  identity  by  that  childish  exclama- 
tion. Don't  tell  hf-y  tlint  he  was  startled  out  of  prudence  and  pre- 
caution.   A  spirit  from  above  or  below  would  not  have  thrown  her 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  .  i  229 

(Miss  Payne)  off  her  guard  where  property  was  concerned,  and 
what  was  the  use  of  men's  superior  streng-th  and  courage  if  they 
could  not  hold  their  tongues  in  presence  of  an  unexpected  appari- 
tion ? 

She  was,  however,  profoundly  disturbed,  and  sent  at  once  for  hei 
brother. 

It  was  even ino- before  he  arrived  in  Wilton  Street,  having  gone 
out  before  Miss  Payne's  note  reached  him.  Like  Errington,  he  was 
at  first  incredulous,  and  when  he  had  gathered  the  facts  of  the  case, 
absolutely  overcome.  In  fact,  he  showed  more  emotion  than  Erring- 
ton,  yet  it  did  not  impress  Katherine  so  much  as  Errington's  deep, 
suppressed  feeling. 

"  But  what  are  vou  to  do  ?"  he  said,'' raising  his  head,  which  he 
had  bowed  on  his  hand  in  a  kind  of  despair. 

"  It  is  just  the  question  I  have  been  asking  myself,"  said  Kather- 
ine, quietly.  "  For  even  if  dear  old  Mr.  Newton  succeeds  in  soften- 
ing George  Liddell,  and  he  forgives  me  the  outlay  of  what  was  cer- 
tainly his  money,  the  little  that  belongs  to  myself  I  shall  want  for 
my  nephews." 

"  And  pray  is  their  mother  to  contribute  nothing  toward  the  main- 
tenance of  her  children?"  asked  Miss  Payne,  severely. 

"  Poor  Ada  !  she  has  nothing  of  her  own  ;  it  will  be  desperately 
hard  on  her ;"  and  Katherine  sighed  deeply.  Her  hearers  little 
knew  the  remorse  that  afflicted  her  as  she  reflected  on  the  false  posi- 
tion into  which  she  had  drawn  her  sister-in-law.  What  a  rage 
Colonel  Ormonde  would  be  in  !  How  unwisely  audacious  it  was  in 
any  mere  mortal  to  play  Providence  for  herself  or  her  fellows  !  But 
Miss  Payne  was  speaking  : 

"  I  don't  see  the  hardship ;  she  has  a  husband  behind  her — a  rich 
man  too." 

"  For  herself  it  is  all  well  enough,  but  it  must  be  very  hard  to 
think  that  one's  children  are  a  burden  on  a  reluctant  husband  ; 
besides,  the  boys  will  feel  it  cruelly.  Oh,  if  I  can  only  keep  them 
with  me !" 

"  I  understandyou,"  cried  Bertie.  "  Would  to  God  you  could  lay 
your  burden  at  His  feet  who  alone  can  help  in  time  of  need.  If  you 
could " 

He  was  interrupted  by  Francois,  who  brought  a  letter  just  arrived 
by  the  last  post. 

"  It  is  from  Mr.  Newton,"  exclaimed  Katherine,  opening-  it  eager- 
ly. And  having  read  it  rapidly,  she  added,  "  You  would  like  to  hear 
what  he  says. 

"  '  My  dear  Miss  Liddell,— As  I  cannot  see  you  early  to-morrow 
I  Avill  send  you  a  report.  I  had  a  long  argument  with  your  cousin 
after  you  left  to-day,  and  although  he  is  still  in  an  unreasonable 
state  of  irritation  against  you  and  myself  and  every  one,  I  do  not 
despair  of  bringing  him  to  a  better  and  a  ju.ster  frame  of  mind.  For 
the  present  it  would  be  as  well  you  did  not  meet.  I  should  advise 
your  taking  steps  at  once  to  remove  your  nephews  from  Sandbourne, 
and  also,  while  you  have  money  pay  the  quarter  in  advance,  as  you 
do  not  know  how  matters  may  turn.    It  was  a  most  fortunate  cir- 


230  .  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

cumstance  that  the  house  occupied  by  Miss  Trant  was  purchased  in 
her  name,  as  Mr.  Liddell  cannot  touch  that,  and  if  she  is  at  all  the 
woman  you  suppose  her  to  be,  she  will  pay  you  interest  for  your 
money. "  If  you  could  only  persuade  your  cousin  to  let  you  see  and 
make  friends  with  this  little  daughter  of  his — there  lies  the  road  to  his 
heart. 

"  '  Meanwhile  say  as  little  as  possible  to  any  one  about  this  sudden 
chang'e  in  your  fortunes.  To  Miss  Payne  you  must,  of  course,  explain 
matters  ;  but  she  is  a  sensible,  prudent  woman. 

"  'With  sincere  sympathy,  believe  me  yours  most  truly, 

"  'W.  Newton.'" 

'♦There is  a  gleam  of  hope,  then,"  exclaimed  Bertie. 

*'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  about  ho))e.  At  best  a  drop  from 
about  two  thousand  a  year  to  a  hundi-ed  and  fifty  is  not  a  subject  for 
congratulation.— Well,  Katherine,  you  are  most  welcome  to  stay 
here  as  my  guest  till  you  find  something  to  do,  for  find  something 
you  must.''' 

"I  knew  you  would  be  kind  and  true,"  said  Katlwrine,  h«r 
voice  a  little  tremulous,  "and  believe  me  1  will  not  sit  with  folded 
hands." 


CHAPTER  XXV.  ^•' " 

"bread  cast  on  the  waters." 

There  were  indeed  long  and  heavy  days  for  Katherine,  few  thouofh 
they  were,  before  Mr.  Newton  thought  it  well  to  communicate  tne 
intelligence  to  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ormonde.  He  wished  to  be  able  to 
extract  some  more  favorable  terms  from  Liddell,  so  that  his  favorite 
client  might  fulfil  her  ardent  desire  to  keep  her  nephews  still  with 
her,  and  assist  in  their  maintenance  and  education.  This  was,  in 
the  slarewd  old  lawyer's  estimation,  a  most  Quixotic  project,  but  he 
saw  it  was  the  only  idea  which  enabled  her  to  bear  the  extreme  dis- 
tress caused  by  the  prospect  of  returning  the  poor  children  on  their 
mother's  hands. 

A  peried  of  uncertainty  is  always  trjing,  and  the  reflection  that 
the  present  crisis  was  the  result  of  her  unfortunate  infringement  of 
the  unalterable  law  of  right  and  wrong  overwhelmed  her  with  a 
sense  of  guilt.  Had  she  not  meddled  with  the  matter,  no  doubt  such 
a  man  as  Errington  would,  were  the  case  prop<!rly  representt^l  to 
him.  have  given  some  portion  of  the  walth  bequeathed  him  to  the 
family  of  tbe  testator.  But  how  could  she  have  foreseen?  True; 
but  she  might  have  resisted  the  temptation  to  deviate  from 
the  straight  path.  "She  might!"  What  an  abyss  of  endless 
regret  yawns  at  the  sound  of  those  words,  used  in  the  sense  of  too 
late! 

This  was  a  hard  worldly  trouble  over  which  she  could  not  weep. 
Over  and  over  again  she  told  herself  that  nothing  should  part  her 
from  the  boys,  that  she  would  devote  her  life  to  repair  as  far  aa 


A  CROOKED  PATa  231 

possible  the  injury  she  had  done  them.  And  Ada,  -woTild  she  also 
suffer  for  her  (Katherine's)  sins?  But  while  brooding-  contitautly  on 
these  miserable  thoughts  she  kept  a  brave  front,  quiet  and  steady, 
though  Miss  Payne  saw  that  ner  composure  hid  a  good  deal  of 
suii'ering. 

It  was  more,  however,  than  Katherine's  resolution  could  accom- 
p'ish  to  keep  a  few  evening  engagements  wiiich  she  had  made.  "  I 
siiould  feel  too  great  an  impostor,"  she  said.  "How  thankful  I 
shall  be  when  the  murder  is  out  and  the  nine  days'  wonder 
over!  Have  you  any  commissions,  dear  Miss  J^ayne?  I 
want  an  object  to  take  me  out,  and  I  feel  I  must  not  mope  in- 
doors." 

"  No,  I  cannot  say  I  have  any  shopping  to  do,  and  I  am  obliged  to 
go  into  the  City  myself.  Take  a  steady  round  of  Kensington  Gar- 
dens ;  it  is  quite  mild  and  bright  to-day.  I  shall  not  return  till  six, 
1  am  afraid." 

80  Katherine  went  out  alone  immediately  after  luncheon,  before 
the  Avorld  and  his  wife  had  time  to  get  abroad.  She  had  made  a 
circuit  of  the  ornamental  water,  and  was  returning  by  the  footpath 
near  the  sunk  fence  which  separates  the  Gardens  from  the  Park, 
avIk'h  she  recognized  De  Burgh  coming  toward  her.  He  had  been 
in  her  thoughts  at  the  moment  ;  for,  feeling-  that  it  was  quite  likely 
he  had  been  considered  a  suitor,  she  was  anxoius  to  give  him 
an  opportunity  of  making  an  honorable  retreat  before  society 
iound  out  that  the  scepti-e  of^  wealth  had  slipped  from  her 
hand. 

"Pray  is  this  the  way  you  cure  a  cold?"  he  asked,  abrupt 
ly.  "Last  night  Lady  Mary  Vincant  informed  me  that  you 
had  staid  at  home  to  nur.se  a  cold.  This  morning  I  call  to 
enquire  for  the  interesting  invalid,  and  find  she  is  out  in  the  cool 
February  air." 

"  It  is' very  mild,  and  it  is  at  night  the  air  is  dangerous,"  return- 
ed Katherine,  smiling. 

"  Now  I  look  at  you,  I  don't  think  you  look  .so  blooming  as  usual. 
"May  I  go  back  with  you  and  pay  my  visit  of  condolence,  in  spite  of 
having  left  my  card.-"" 

"  Ye-s,"  said  Katherine,  with  sudden  decision.  ''  I  want  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  Indeed  !"— with  a  keen,  eager  look.  "  This  is  something  new. 
May  1  ask — " 

"  No  ;  not  until  we  are  in  Miss  Payne's  drawing-room." 

"You  alarm  me.  Could  it  be  possible  that  you,  peerless  as  you 
are,  have  got  into  a  scrape?" 

"  Well,  I  think  I  can  say  1  have,"  said  Katherine,  smiling. 

"Great  heavens  !  t"iii«  is  delightful." 

*'  Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  By  all  means.  Will  you  hear  some  gossip  ?  I  don't  often  retail 
any,  but  I  f»ncy  you'll  be  amused  and  interested  to  know  that  Lady 
Alice  Mordaunt  is  reallv  goin<^  to  marry  that  brewer  fellow.  You 
remember  I  told  you  what  I  thought  was  going  on  last  autumn." 

'•  Is  it  posjiible?"  cried  Katherine.  "Imagine  her  so  soon  forget> 
ting  Mr.  Errington  !" 


232  A  CROOKED  PATa 

"  And  why  should  not  that  immaculate  individual  be  exempt  from 
the  usual  fate  of  man  ?" 

*'  I  don't  know — except  that  he  is  not  an  ordinary  man." 
"  No  ;  certainly  not.  He  is  an  extraordinary  fellow  ;  but  I  must 
say  he  has  shown  g-reat  stayin"-  power  in  his  late  difficulties.  "^They 
tell  me  he  has  been  revenging' nimself  by  writing-  awful  problems, 
political  and  critical,  which  requre  a  forty -horse  mtellectual  power 
to  understand."    And  De  Burg-h  talked  on,  seeing"  that  his  com- 

E anion  was  disinclined  to  speak  until  they  reached  Miss  Payne's 
ouse. 

Katherine  took  off  her  hat  and  warm  cloak  with  some  deliberation, 
thinking'  how  best  to  approach  her  subject.  Pushing  back  her  hair, 
which  had  become  somewhat  disordered  from  its  own  weig-ht,  she 
sat  down  on  an  ottoman,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  De  Burgh,  who 
stood  on  the  hearth-ruo;',  said,  slowly,  "I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you 
which  you  must  keep  for  a  few  weeks." 

"For  an  eternity,  if  you  will  trust  me,"  he  returned,  in  low, 
earnest  tones,  his  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  as  if  trying  to  read  hei 
heart. 

"Well,  then,  my  uncle's  son  and  hoir,  whom  we  believed  to  be 
dead,  has  suddenly  reappeared,  and  of  course  takes  the  fortune  I 
have  been,  let  us  say,  enjoying." 

De  Burgh  did  not  reply  at  once  ;  his  eyes  continued  to  search  her 
face  as  if  to  discover  some  hidden  mea  ing. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  take  you  seriously,  Miss  Liddell.^" 

"  Quite.  Moreover,  I  fear  my  cousin  means  to  demand  the  arrears 
of  income— income  which  I  have  spent." 

"  But  the  fellow  must  be  an  impostor.  Your  man  of  business, 
Kewton,  will  never  yield  to  his  demands.  He  must  prove  his 
case." 

"I  think  he  has  proved  it.  Mr.  Newton  recognized  him  at  the 
first  glance  ;  and  h(?  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  his  father.  1  feci 
he  is  the  man  he  asserts  himself  to  be.  ' 

"  Do  you  intend  to  give  up  without  a  struggle  ?  What  account 
does  this  intruder  give  of  himself?"' 

Katherine  gave  him  a  brief  sketch  of  the  story,  speaking  with 
firmness  and  composure. 

"  What  an  infernal  shame'"  cried  De  Burgh,  when  she  ceased 
speaking.  "  I  wish  1  had  had  a  chance  of  sending  a  bullet  through 
his  head,  and  as  sure  as  there  is  a  devil  down  below  I'd  have  verified 
the  report  of  his  death  !    Why,  what  is  to  be  done  Y' 

"I  still  faintly  hope  Mr.  NeVton  may  persuade  him  to  forego  his 
first  demand  for  the  restoration  of  those  moneys  I  have  spent.  If  so, 
I  am  not  quite  penniless,  and  can  hope  to—  At  all  events,  I  thought 
it  l)Ut  right  to  g'ive  you  early  information,  as—" 

"Why  y"  interru"pa;d  De,  iiurgh  (for  she  hesitated),  throwing  him- 
self on  the  ottoman  and  leaning  against  the  arm  which  divided  the 
seats,  till  his  long-  dark  mustaches  nearly  touched  the  coils  of  her 
hair.  "Why?"  he  repeated,  as  she  did  not  answer  immrdiately. 
"1  know  well  enough.  It  is  your  loyalty  that  makes  you  wish  to 
open  a  way  of  escape  to  the  friend  who  is  credited  with  seeking  your 
fortime.    I  see  it  all." 


A  CROOKED  PATa  233 

"You  can  assign  any  motive  you  like,  Mr.  De' Burgh,  but  I 
thought— I  wished— 1  believed  it  better  to  let  you  know  ;  for  I  shall 
always  consid -r  you  my  friend,  even  if  we  do  not  meet,"  said 
Katherine,  a  good  deal  uuhlnged  by  the  excitement  and  distress  he 
displayed. 

"  Meet?  why,  of  course  wg  shall  meet  !  Do  you  think  anything 
in  heaven  or  earth  would  make  me  give  up  the  attempt,  hopeless  as 
it  may  seem,  to  win  you?  1  know  you  don't  care  a  rap  for  me  now, 
but  I  cannot,  dare  not  despair.  I've  too  much  at  stake.  There  is 
the  awful  sting  of  this  misfortune.  Even  if  you,  by  some  blessed 
intervention  of  Providence,  were  ready  to  marry  me,  I  don't  see 
how  I  could  drag  you  into  such  a  sea  of  trouble.  Besides,  there's 
old  De  Burgh  ;  hemust  be  kept  in  good-humor.  By  Heaven  !  this 
miserable  want  of  money  is  the  most  utter  degradation— irresistible, 
enslaving.  I  feel  like  a  beaten  cur.  I  am  tied  hand  and  foot.  Had 
I  not  been  such  a  reckless  idiot,  why,  your  misfortunes  might  have 
been  my  best  chance.  I  dare  say  that  sounds  shabby  enough,  but  I 
like  to  let  you  see  what  I  am,  good  and  bad ;  besides,  I  am  ready  to 
do  anythinfi,  right  or  wrong,  to  win  you." 

**  Ah,  Mr.  De  Burgh,  no  crookedness  ever  succeeds.  And  then  I 
do  not  deserve  that  you  should  think  so  much  or  care  so  much  for 
me,  for  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  you  or  any  one.  My  plan  of  life  is 
framed  on  quite  different  line's  Do  put  "me  out  of  your  mind,  and 
think  of  your  own  fortunes.  Do  not  vex  Lord  De  Burgh  ;  but  oh  ! 
pray  give  up  racing  and  gambling.  You  know  Ireally  do  like  you, 
not  exactly  in  theVay  you  wish,  but  it  adds  greatly  to  my  troubles 
(for  I  am  very  sorry  to  lose  my  fortune,  I  assure  you)  to  see  you  so 
—so  disturbed." 

"If  you  look  at  me  so  kindly  with  those  sweet  wet  eyes  I  shall 
lose  mv  head'"  cried  De  Burgfi,  who  was  already  beside  himself,  for 
thegulf  which  had  suddenly  yawned  between  him  and  the  woman 
he  coveted  seemed  to  grow  wider  as  he  looked  at  it.  "I  am  the 
most  unlucky  devil  in  existence,  and  I  have  brou^-ht  tfou  ill  luck.  I 
should  have  kept  away  from  you,  for  you  are  a  hundred  thousand 
times  too  good  for  me  ;  but  as  I  have  thrown  myself  headlong  into 
the  delicious  pain  of  loving  you,  won't  you  give  me  a  chance  ? 
Promise  to  wait  for  me  :  a  week,  a  day,  may  see  me  wealtiiy,  and  I 
swear  I  will  strive  to  be  worthy  too :  why  were  tho.se  bush-ran"-ers 
such   infernally  bad-shots  ?— and   1  can  be   no  use  to   you  what- 

GV6r  ?" 

"  But  I  have  manv  kind  friends,  Mr  De  Burgh.  You  must  not 
distress  yourself  about  me.  I  am  not  frightened,!  assure  you.  Now 
I  have  told  you  everything,  don't  you  think  you  would  better  go  ?" 
She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  held  out  her  hand.  ^ 

"  Better  for  you,  yes,  but  not  for  me.  Look  here,  Katherme,  don  t 
banish  me.     1  am  obliged  to  go  with  old  De  Burgh  to  Paris.    He  is 


in  short,  I  won't  take  a  dismissal.  What  is  it  you  object  to  ?  What 
absurd  stories  have  been  told  you  to  sot  you  against  me?  Other 
women  have  liked  me  well  enough. '^    _ 


234  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

'•  T  have  no  doubt  yon  deserve  to  be  loved,  Mr.  De  Burg-h,  bm 
theve  are  feelings  that,  like  the  wind,  blow  where  they  list ;  we  can- 
not tell  whence  they  come  or  whither  they  go.  I  am  sorry  I  do  not 
love  you,  but— I  am  very  tired.  If  you  care  to  come  and  see  me 
wlicn  you  come  back,  come  // 1  have  any  place  in  which  to  receive 
you." 

"  If  I  write,  will  you  answer  my  letters?" 
"  Oh  no  ;  don't  write ;  I  would  rather  you  did  not." 
"  I  am  a  brute  to  keep  you  when  you  look  so  white  ;  I'll  go.   Good- 
bv  for  the  present— only  for  the  present,  you  dear,  sweet  woman  !" 
iJe  kissed  ner  hand  twice  and  went  quickly  out  of  the  room. 

Katherine  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  degree  of  liking  she  had 
for  De  Burgh  made  her  feel  greatly  distressed  at  having  been 
obliged  to  give  him  pain.  Yet  she  was  not  by  any  means  disposed 
to  trust  him  ;  his  restless  eagerness  to  gratify  every  Avhim  and 
desire  as  it  came  to  him,  the  kind  of  harshness  which  made  him  so 
indifferent  to  the  feeling's  and  opinions  of  those  who  opposed  him— 
this  was  very  repellent  to  Katherine's  more  considerate  and  sympa- 
thetic nature.  Besides,  and  above  all,  De  Burgh  was  not  Errington; 
and  it  needs  no  more  to  explain  why  the  former,  who  had  no  reason 
hitherto  to  complain  of  the  coldness  of  women,  found  the  only  one 
he  had  ever  loved  with  a  high  order  of  affection  untouched  by  his 
wooing. 

The  day  after  this  interview  Katherine,  accompanied  by  Miss 
Payne,  went  down  to  Sandbourne  to  interview  the  principal  of  the 
boys'  school,  to  explain  the  state  of  afiairs,  to  give  notice  that  she 
should  be  obliged  to  remove  them,  and  to  pay  in  advance  for  the 
time  they  were  to  remain 

The  visit  was  full  of  both  pain  and  pleasure.  The  genuine  delight 
of  the  children  on  seeing  her  une;<i>ectedly,  their  joy  at  being  per- 
mitted to  go  out  to  walk  with  hor,  their  innocent  talk,  and  the 
castles  in  the  air  which  they  erected  in  the  firm  conviction  that  they 
were  to  have  horses  and  dogs,  man-servants  and  maid-servants,  all 
the  daj'S  of  their  lives,  touched  her  heart.  The  principal  gave  a 
good  account  of  both.  Cecil  was,  he  said,  erratic  and  excitable  in 
no  common  degree,  but  though  troublesome,  he  was  truthful  and 
straightforward,  while  Charlie  promi.sed  to  develop  qualities  of  no 
common  order.  He  entered  with  a  very  friendly  spirit  into  the 
anxiety  of  the  young  aunt,  whose  motherly  tenderness  for  her 
nephews  touched  him  greatly.  He  gave  her  some  valuable  advice, 
and  the  address  of  two  schools  regulated  to  suit  parents  of  small 
means,  and  which  he  could  safely  recommend.  By  his  suggestion 
nothing  was  said  for  the  pre.sent  to  Cis  or  Charlie  regarding  the  im- 
pending change,  lest  they  should  be  unsettled. 

"  And  shall  we  come  to  stay  at  Miss  Payne's  for  the  Easter  holi- 
days ?"  cried  the  boys  in  chorus,  as  Katherine  took  leave  of  them 
the  next  day. 

"  I  hope  so,  dears,  but  I  am  not 

"Then  will  you  come  down  t*  Lourne?      That  would  be 

jolly." 

*'  1  cannot  promise,  Cecil.    We  will  see." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  235 

"But,  atintie,  we'll  not  have  to  go  to  Castleford ?" 
"  Why  ?    Would  you  not  like  to  g-o  ?" 

"  No.  Would  you,  Charlie  ?  I  don't  like  being-  there  nearly  M 
much  as  at  school.  I  don't  like  having-jdinner  by  ourselves,  and  yet 
I  don't  care  to  dine  with  Colonel  Ormonde  ;  he  is  always  in  a 
wax." 

"  He  does  not  mean  to  be  cross,"  said  Katherine,  her  heart  sink- 
inof  within  her.  Should  she  be  oblig-ed  to  hand  over  the  poor  little 
helpless  fellows  to  the  reluctant  guardianship  of  their  irritable  step- 
father ?  This  would  indeed  be  a  pang.  Was  it  for  this  she  had 
brolcen  the  law,  and  marred  the  harmony  of  her  own  moral 
nature  ? 

"  Well,  my  own  dear,  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  you  may 
be  quite  sure.  Now  you  must  let  me  go  ;  I  will  come  again  as  soon 
as  I  can."  Cis  kissed  her  heartily,  and  scampered  away  to  take  his 
place  in  the  class-room,  quite  content  with  his  school  life.  Charlie 
thi-ew  his  arms  around  his  auntie's  neck,  and  clung  to  her  lovingly. 
But  he  too  was  called  away,  and  nothing  remained  for  Katherine 
and  her  companion  but  to  make  their  way  to  the  station  and  return 
to  town. 

This  visit  cost  Katherine  more  than  any  other  outcome  of  Greorge 
Liddell's  reappearance.  Her  quick  imagination  depicted  what  the 
boys'  lives  would  be  under  the  jurisdiction  of  their  mother  and  her 
husband— the  worries,  the  suppression,  the  sense  of  being  always 
naughty  and  in  the  wrong,  the  different  yet  equally  pernicious  effect 
such  treatment  would  have  on  the  brothers. 

"  This  is  the  worst  part  of  the  business  to  you,"  said  Miss  Payne, 
when  they  had  reached  home  and  sat  down  to  a  late  tea  together. 
"  You  look  like  a  ghost,  or  as  if  you  had  seen  one.  You  will  make 
vourself  ill,  and  really  there  is  no  need  to  do  anything  of  the  kind, 
^hose  children  have  a  mother  who  is  very  well  off.  I  always 
thought  it  frightfully  imprudent  of  you  to  take  those  boys  even 
when  you  had  plenty  of  money.  Noav,  of  course,  when  it  is  impos- 
sible for  you  to  keep  them,  it  is  a  bitter  wrench  to  part,  but—" 

"  But  i  am  not  sure  that  we  must  part,"  interrupted  Katherine, 
eagerly.  "  Should  mv  cousin  be  induced  to  forego  his  claims  upon 
me  for  the  income  I  have  expended,  and  I  can  find  some  means  of 
maintaining  myself,  I  could  still  provide  for  their  school  expenses 
and  keep  them  with  me." 

"Maintain  yourself,  my  dear  Katherine;  it  is  easier  said  than 
done.  You  ai'e  quite  infatuated  about  those  nephews  of  yours,  and 
I  dare  say  they  will  give  you  small  thanks." 

"  I  know  it  is  not  easy  for  an  untrained  woman  like  myself  to  find 
remunerative  work,  but  I  shall  try.  Here  is  a  note  from  Mr.  Newton 
asking  me  to  call  on  him  to-morrow.  Let  us  hope  he  will  have  some 
good  news,  though  I  cannot  help  fearing  he  would  have  told  me  in 
this  if  he  had." 

It  was  with  a  sickening  sensation  of  uneasy  hope  shot  with  dark 
streaks  of  fear  that  Katherine  started  to  keep  her  appointment  with 
Mr.  Newton.  Eager  to  begin  her  economy  at  once,  Katherine  took 
an  omnibus  instead  of  indulging  in  a  brougham  or  a  cab.  She  could 
not  help  smiling  at  her  own  sense  of  helpless  discomfort  when  a  fat 


236  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

woman  almost  sat  down  upon  her,  and  the  conductor  told  her  to  look 
sharp  whon  the  vehicle  stopped  to  let  her  alight  ;  as  she  reflected  that 
bai-ely  three  years  ag^o  she  considered  an  omnibus  rather  a  luxury, 
and  that  it  was  a  matter  of  careful  calculation  how  many  pennies 
mig'ht  be  saved  by  walking  to  certain  points  whence  one  could  travel 
at  a  reduced  fare.  How  easily  ai'e  luxurious  and  s.-lf-indulg-ent 
habits  formed  !  Well,  she  had  done  with  them  forever  now  ;  nor 
would  anything  seem  a  hardship  were  she  but  permitted  to  repair  in 
some  measure  the  evil  she  had  wrought. 

SIk;  found  Mr.  Newton  awaiting  her  with  evident  irapatienca. 
*'  Well,  my  dear  Miss  Liddell,"  he  said,  "  1  have  Ijeen  most  anxious 
to  see  you,  though  I  have  not  much  that  is  cheering  to  communicate. 
I  have  had  several  interviews  with  your  cousin,  but  he  seems  s'il' 
unaccountably  hard  and  vindictive.  However,  as  I  am,  of  course. 
yonr  adviser,  iie  has  been  obliged  to  seek  another  solicitor,  and  I  am 
happy  to  say  he  has  fallen  into  good  hands,  and  that  by  a  sort  of 
luckv  chance." 

"  liow  ?"  asked  Katherine,  who  was  looking  pale  and  feeling  in 
the  depths. 

"  Well,  a  few  days  ago  a  gentleman  called  here  to  ask  me  for  the 
address  of  a  former  client  of  whom  1  have  heard  nothing  for  years. 
1  think  you  know  or  have  met  this  gentleman— Mr.  Erring- 
ton." 

"  I  do,"  cried  Katherine,  now  all  attention. 

"While  Ave  were  speaking  Mr.  Liddell  was  announced.  Erring- 
ton  looked  at  him  hard,  and  then  asked  politely  if  he  were  the  son 
of  the  late  Mr.  John  Liddell,  who  had  been  a  great  friend  of  his 
(Errington's)  father.  Your  cousin  seemed  to  know  the  name,  ami, 
moreover,  very  pleased  at  being  spoken  to  and  remembered.  Mr. 
Errington  offered  to  call,  and  now  I  find  he  has  recommended  his 
own  solicitors,  Messrs.  Compton  &  Barnes,  to  George  Liddell.  I  had 
aa  interview  with  the  head  of  the  tirm  yesterday,  and  he  has  evi- 
dently advised  that  the  strictly  legal  claims  against  j^ou  should  not 
be  pressed.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  Mr.  Errington  has  inter- 
ested himself  on  your  side." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  Katherine,  life  and  warmth  coming  back  to  her 
heart  at  his  words. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Compton  appears  to  have  the  highest  possible  opinion 
of  Errington  as  a  man  of  integrity  and  intelli«"ence.  He,  Compton 
says,  believes  that  if  Liddell  could  be  persuaded  such  a  line  of  con- 
duct toward  you  would  injure  him  socially,  he  would  not  seek  to 
enforce  his  rights,  for  he  is  evidently  anxious  to  make  a  position  in 
the  jrespectable  world.  As  you  make  no  opposition  to  his  claims  h3 
ougut  to  show  you  consideration.  This  accidental  encounter  between 
Errington  and  your  cousin  will,  I  am  sure,  prove  a  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance." 

In  her  own  mind  Katherine  could  not  help  doubting  its  accidental 
character.  How  infinitely  goo<i  and  forgiving  Errington  was  !  While 
she  thought,  Mr.  Newton  mus;;d. 

" I  suppose  you  have  a  tolerable  balance  at  the  bank?"  he  said, 
abruptly. 

"  Yes".  I  have  never  spent  a  year's  income  in  a  year.  Just  latelj, 
except  for  buying  that  house,  I  have  spent  very  little." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  237 

"  That  house  !  Oh— ah  !  I  shall  be  curious  to  see  how  Miss  Trant 
will  behave.  If  she  is  true  to  her  word  ;  if  she  looks  upon  your  loan 
to  her  as  a  loan— an  investment  on  your  side— you  may  g-ain  aa 
addition  to  your  income  through  what  was  an  act  of  pure  benevolence. 
When  you  g-o  home,  my  dear  young-  lady,  look  at  your  bank-book, 
and  let  me  know  exactly  how  you  stand/  We  might  ofler  this  cor- 
morant of  a  cousin  a  portion  of  your  savings  to  linish  the  business. 
Indeed  I  should  advis;-  vou  to  draw  a  good  large  check  at  once  so  as 
to  jirovido  yourself  w  ith  ready  money." 

"  Would  it  be  quite— quite  honest  to  do  so?"  asked  Katherine, 
anxiously." 

"Pray  do  you  impugn  my  integrity?" 

"  No !  But  suppose  George  Liddell  found  I  had  drawn  a 
large  check— perhaps  the  viry  day  before  I  propose  through 
you  to  hand  over  what  remains  to  me— he  would  think  me  a 
cheat  ?" 

"  And  pray  why  should  he  know  anything  about  your  bank  book? 
or  what  consideration  do  you  owe  him?  He  is  behaving  very 
harshly  and  badly  to  you.  'We  will  state  what  is  in  the  hank  after 
you  have  drawn'  vour  check,  and  oiTer  him  half — which  is  a  great 
deal  too  much  for  him.     Yet  I  should  like  him  to  be  your  friend,  if 

Eossibie.  Could  you  get  hold  of  that  little  girl  of  his?  Affection  for 
er  Sc'cnis  to  be  the  oi.ly  human  thing  about  him.'' 

"  1  think  1  should  rather  have  nothing  todo  with  him,"  murmured 
Ivathi'rine. 

''  \V<,II,  well,  we  will  see.  Now,  though  we  have  not  succeeded  in 
comirg  to  any  settlement  with  Liddell,  I  believe  we  ought  not  to  leave 
Mrs  Ormonde  any  longer  in  ignoi'ance  respecting  the  change  which 
has  taken  place." 

"  No,  I  am  .«iure  they  ought  to  know.  I  have  been  troubling  my- 
self about  both  the  Colonel  and  Mrs  Ormonde,"  said  Katherine. 
"This  is  what  I  dread  most"    And  she  sighed. 

"I  do  not  see  why  you  need.  I  am  sure  you  acted  with  noble  lib- 
erality to  Mrs.  Ormonde  and  her  boys  when  you  thought  you  were 
the  rightful  owner  of  the  property." 

"The  rightful  owner,"  repeated  Katherine,  with  a  thrill  of  pain. 
"  It  h  IS  been  an  unfortunate  ownership  to  me." 

"  It  has— it  has  indeed,  my  dear  voung  lady,  but  we  must  sao 
how  to  help  you  at  this  juncture.  If  Miss  Trant  behaves  as  she 
ought,  we  must  put  a  little  more  capital  in  that  concern  if  it 
is  as  thriving  as  you  believe.  It  may  turn  out  very  useful  to 
you." 

"I  have  not  seen  her  since  my  cousin  came  to  life  again,  fori 
could  not  see  her  and  keep  back  my  strange  story.  May  I  tell  her 
now?" 

"Certainly.  It  was  from  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ormonde  I  wished  to 
keep  back  the  disastrous  news  till  some  agreement  shoifld  become 

tO." 

"You  must  not  call  my  cousin's  return  to  [life  and  country  disas- 
;roTSW,"said  Katherine,  smiling.  "lam  sure,  if  he  will  only  give 
me  the  chance  of  keeping  my  boys  with  me,  I  am  quite  ready  to 
ireicome  him  to  both.    Now  I  shall  leave  you,  for  I  want  to  send 


238  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

away  my  letter  to  Ada  this  evening,  and  it  is  a  difficult  letter  to 
write." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  will  state  your  case  clearly  and  well," 
returned  Mr.  Newton,  rising-  to  shake  hands  with  her.  "Let  me 
hear  what  Mrs.  Ormonde  says  in  reply  ;  and  see  your  protegee, 
Miss  Trant.     I  am  anxious  to  learn  her  views." 

"lam  quite  sure  I  know  what  they  will  be,"  said  Katherine. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  Human  nature  is  a  very  crooked  thing — 
more  crooked  than  a  true  heart  like  yours  can  imagine, "continued 
the  old  man,  holding  her  hand  kindly. 

"Ah,  Mr,  Newton,"  she  cried,  with  an  irresistible  outburst  of 
penitence,  "you  little  know  what  crooked  things  I  can  imagine." 

"  Can't  I?"  he  said  laughing  at  what  he  fancied  was  her  little  joke, 
and  glad  to  see  her  bearing  her  troubles  so  lightly.  "You'll 
come  all  right  yet,  my  dear  ;  you  have  the  right  spirit.  Is  your 
carriage  waiting?  " 

"  Not  here ;  but  in  Holborn  I  have  several  at  mj-  command," she 
returned.  "  Good-by ;  no,  you  must  not  come  down-stairs  ;  it  is 
damp  and  chilly." 

On  reaching  her  home,  the  home  she  must  °o  soon  resign,  Kathe- 
rine sent  a  note  to  Rachel  Trant  asking  if  sh«  had  a  spare  hour  that 
evening,  as  she,  Katherine,  had  something  to  tell  her,  and  preferred 
going  to  her  house.  Then  she  sat  down  to  write  a  fiill  and  detailed 
account  of  what  had  taken  place  to  her  sister-in-law.  It  was  dusk 
before  she  had  finished  and  she  herself  felt  considerably  exhausted. 
Miss  Pa\'ne  had  gone  out  to  dine  with  one  of  her  former  girls,  now 
the  wife  of  a  racketv  horsy  man,  whose  conduct  made  her  often  look 
back  with  a  sigh  of  regret  to  the  tranquil  days  passed  under  the 
guardianship  of  the  prudent  spinster  ;  so  having  partaken  of  tea  at 
theirusualdinner-time  she  sat  and  mused  awhile  on  the  on(!  subject 
from  which  she  could  derive  comfort — Erririgton  and  his  wondei'ful 
kinanesstoher.  If  he  took  the  matter  in  hand  she  thought  herself 
safe.  Her  confidence  in  him  was  nnbounded.  Ah  !  why  had  she 
placed  such  a  gulf  between  them  ?  How  she  had  destroved  her  own 
life  !  There  was  but  one  tie  between  her  and  the  world,  little  Charlie 
fi:  <i  Cis,  and  perhaps  she  had  been  their  greatest  enemy.  Shealmost 
w  ished  she  could  love  De  Burgh.  He  was  undoubtedly  in  earnest ; 
he  interested  her  ;  ne — But  no.  Between  her  and  any  possible  hus- 
band she  had  reared  the  insurmountable  barrier  of  a  secret  not  to  be 
shared  by  any  save  one,  from  whom,  somehow,  instead  of  dividing 
her,  had  bound  her  indissolubly  ;  at  least  she  felt  it  to  be  so. 

It  was  near  the  hour  she  had  fixed  to  call  on  Rachel,  so  she  roused 
herself,  ana  asking  the  amiable  Francois  to  accompany  her, 
started  for  Maiden  Street. 

Rachel  Trant  had  made  a  back  parlor,  designated  the  "trying- 
on"room,  bright  and  cosy,  with  a  shaded  lamp,  a  red  fire,  a  couple 
of  easy-chairs  at  either  side  of  it,  and  a  gay  cloth  over  the  small 
round  table  erst  strewn  with  fashion  books,  measuring  tapes,  pins, 
patterns  and  pin-cushions. 

"How  very  good  of  you  to  come  tome  !"  cried  Miss  Trant,  hasten- 
ing to  divest  her  friend  of  bonnet  and  cloak.  "I  am  very  curious  to 
hear  the  story  you  have  to  tell. "  Then,  as  Katherine  sat  down  where 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  239 

the  lamp-liffht  fell  upon  her  face,  she  added,  "  But  you  are  not  look- 
ing well,  Miss  Liddell ;  your  eyes  look  heavy  ;  your  mouth  is 
sad. " 

"  I  am  troubled,  more  than  sad,"  said  Katherine  ;  "  the  why  and 
wherefore  I  have  come  to  tell  you." 

"  Yes  ;  tell  me  everything". "  And  Rachel  took  a  low  seat  opposite 
her  g-uest ;  her  usually  pale  face  was  slightly  flushed,  her  larg-e  blue 
eyes  darkened  with  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  friend  she  loved  so 
warmly  and  the  interest  with  which  she  awaited  her  disclosure,  and 
as  Katherine  looked  at  her  she  realized  how  pretty  and  attractive 
she  must  have  been  before  the  fresh  grace  of  her  girlhood  had  been 
witherf»l  by  the  cruel  fires  of  passion  and  despair,  "lam  listening," 
saidRachel,  gently,  to  recall  her  visitor,  whose  thoughts  were  evi- 
dently far  away. 

"Yes;  I  had  forgotten."    And  Katherine  began  her  story. 

Rachel  Trant  listened  with  rapt,  intense  attention,  nor  did  she 
interrupt  the  narrative  by  a  single  question. 

When  Katherine  ceased  to  speak  she  remained  silent  for  a  second 
or  two  longer :  then  she  asked,  "  Are  you  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
this  man's  story  ?  " 

"  I  am,  for  Mr.  Newton  does  not  seem  to  have  a  doubt.  Oh  !  he  is 
my  uncle  John's  only  son— only  child,  indeed — and  he  is  like  him.  I 
always  fancied  from  the  little  my  uncle  said  about  George  that  he 
was  naturally  kind  and  sympathetic,  but  he  has  had  a  hard  life,  and 
it  has  made  him  hard.  The  loss  of  his  mother  was  a  terrible 
misfortune." 

"  Was  he  young  when  she  died  ?  " 

"  He  was  about  fourteen,  I  think  ;  but  he  lost  her  by  a  worse  mis- 
fortune than  death.  She  was  driven  away  by  my  uncle's  severity 
and  harshness  ;  she  left  him  for  another.'' 

"  What  !  left  her  son  ?  " 

"  Yes — it  seems  incredible — nor  does  my  cousin  resent  her  deser- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  all  the  affection  and  softness  in  him  appears 
to  centre  round  his  daughter  and  the  memory  of  his  mother. " 

"Then,"  said  Rachel,  "if  this  man  persists  in  demanding  his 
rights,  you  will  be  beggared,  and  those  dear  boys  must  go  back  to 
their  mother.    They  will  not  be  too  welcome." 

"  Oh  no  !  no  !  I  feel  that  only  too  keenly." 

"  But  you  will  not  be  penniless  nor  homeless, "cried  Rachel.  "He 
cannot  touch  this  house.  You  made  it  over  to  me,  and  I  will  use  it 
for  you.  There  are  two  nice  rooms  I  can  arrange  for  vou  upstairs, 
lam  doing  well,  and  if  I  had  but  a  little  more  capital,  I  should  not 
fear  ■,  I  should  not  doubt  making  a  great  success.  My  dear,  dearest 
Miss  Liddell,  I  may  be  of  use  to  you,  after  all.  Tell  me,  is  this  Mr. 
Newton  ti-uly  interested  in  you— anxious  to  help  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  ;  he  is  very  unhappy  about  me." 

"  Do  you  think  he  would  let  me  call  on  him  ?  I  want  to  tell  him 
the  plans  that  are  coming  into  n»y  head.  I  can  explain  all  the  bu.si- 
ness  part  to  him.  If  I  can  get  through  this  year  without  debt,  1  am 
pretty  sureof  providing  you  withan  income— an  increasinginconie. 
This  is  a  joy  1  never  anticipated.  And  then  you  can  keep  your  little 
nephews,  and  be  a  real  mother  to  them.  I  don'c  want  to  trouble  you 


240  X  CROOKED  PATH. 

with  the  businesr  letails  oi  my  plan  ;  you  would  not  Tniderctand 
them.  But  Mr.  iN'e.vtuii  will.  'Pray  write  a  line  as^kiTig-  him  to  see 
me,  to  name  his  own  time.  Stay  ;  here  are  paper  and  pen  and  ink  ; 
ask  him  to  write  to  vnrf.  He  knows— he  knows  m^^  .story.  At  k-asfc 
— "  She  stopped,  coloring  crimson. 

"  He  knows  all  it  is  needful  for  me  to  tell,"  said  Katherino,  gravely. 
"  Yes,  Rachel,  it  is  better  to  explain  all  to  him.  He  is  kind  and 
wise,  and  I  am  strang-ely  stupefied  by  this  extraordinary  overturn 
of  my  fortunes.  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  help,  but  do  not  neglect  your 
own  future,  dear  Rachel." 

"  I  shall  not :  I  shall  make  enough  for  us  both.  You  have  indeed 
given  me  something  to  live  for." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

COLONEL  AND  MRS.  ORMONDB. 

The  moral  effect  of  feeling  in  touch  with  some  loyal,  tender,  sym- 
pathizing fellow-creature  is  immense.  It  gives  faith  in  one's  self — 
a  bo'lief  in  the  possibilities  for  good  hidden  in  the  future  :  above  all, 
relief  from  that  most  paralyzing  of  mental  conditions,  a  sense  of 
isolation. 

Katherine  walked  back  alone  in  the  dark.  The  sooner  she  accus- 
tomed herself  to  habits  of  independence  the  belter  :  for  the  future 
she  nust  learn  to  stand  alone,  to  take  care  of  herself,  unassisted  by 
maid  or  tlunky.  It  made  her  a  little  nervous  ;  for  although  in  the 
old  impecunious  days  she  went  on  all  necessary  errands  in  the  morn- 
ing alone,  she  rarely  left  the  house  after  sundown  even  with  a  com- 
panion. They  were  very  monotonous  days,  those  which  .seemed  to 
have  fled  away  so  far  into  the  soft  misty  gloom  of  the  past.  Yet  how 
full  of  fragrance  was  their  memory  !  The  castle-building,  the  vague 
briglit  hopes,  the  joy  of  helping  t!ie  dear  mother,  the  utter  absolute 
truVit  in  her,  the  sa-uggle  with  the  necessities  of  life— all  wex'e  more 
or  less  sweet ;  and  now  to  what  an  end  she  had  brought  the  simple 
drama  of  her  youth  !  Had  she  resisted  that  strange  prompt  ii5^  which 
kept  her  silent  when  Mr.  Newton  began  to  look  for  the  will,  Iioav 
different  everv.iiing  might  have  been  !  Errington  might  I  o  well  off 
too.  and  she  might  never  have  seen  him. 

AVith  the  thought  of  him  came  the  sudden  overpowering  wish  to 
hear  his  voice— clear,  deliberate,  convincing — Avhicii  sometimes  .seiz- 
ed her  in  .s^nte  of  every  eHbrt  to  banish  it  from  her  mind,  and  of 
which  she  was  utt'U'ly]^ profoundly  ashamed,  thj  recurrence  of  Avhich 
v>as  infinitely  painful.  She  must  fill  h;'r  heart  with  other  thoughts, 
other  objects.  "  Life  is  serious  enough  (ihe  life  which  lies  before 
me  especially)  to  crowd  out  these  follies.  Why  do  I  increase  its  gloom 
with  imaginary  troubles  ?" 

Miss  Payne,  returning  from  her  dinner,  found  Katherine  sitting 
up  for  her,  apparently  occuiMed  with  a  book,  and  in  the  little  confi- 
dential talk  which  ensued  liath  'rine  toldherof  Ilachcl  Traut's  inten- 
tion of  consulting  Mr.  Newton  respecting  her  jjlaiis  for  increasing 
her  business  witn  a  viaw  to  assisting  her  benefactress. 


A  CROOKED  PATa  241 

Miss  Payne  received  this  communication  in  silence  ;  but  after  a 
moment's  thought  observed,  in  a  grave,  approving  tone;  "  You  have 
not  been  deceived  in  her,  then.  I  really  believe  Eachel  Trant  is  a 
youn""  woman  of  principle  and  integrity." 

"  Yes,  I  have  always  thought  so."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  resum- 
ed: "  I  wonder  what  replv  I  shall  have  from  Ada  to-morrow— no, 
the  daj^  after  to-morrow.' 

"Do  not  worry  yourself  about  it.  She  will  make  herself  disagree- 
able, of  course  ;"but  it  is  just  a  trouble  to  be  got  through  with.  Qo 
to  i  ed,  my  dear  ;  try  to  sleep  and  to  forget.  You  are  looking  fagged 
and  worn." 

But  Katherine  could  not  help  dwelling  upon  the  pictL.e  her  ima- 
gination pi-csented  of  the  morrow's  breakfast-time  at  Castleford  ;  of 
the  dismay  with  which  her  letter  would  be  read  ;  of  Ada's  tears  and 
Colonel  Ormonde's  rage  ;  of  the  torrent  of  advice  which  would  be 
poured  i;non  her.  Then  what  decision  would  Colonel  Ormonde  como 
to  about  the  boj's?  He  would  banish  them  to  some  cheap  out-of-the- 
wav  school.    It  was  impossible  to  say  what  he  would  do. 

Istaturally  she  did  not  sleep  well  or  continuously,  disturbed  as  she 
was  by  such  thoughts— such  uneasv  anticipations— and  her  eyes 
showed  the  results  of  a  bad  night  when  she  met  Miss  Payne  5  the 
morning. 

About  eleven  o'clock  Katherine  came  quickly  into     -iss  Payne's 

E articular  sitting-room,  where  she  made  up  her  accounts  and  studied 
er  bank-book. 

"  "What  is  it?"  asked  that  lady,  looking  up,  and  perceiving  that 
Katherine  was  agitated. 

"  A  telegram  from  Ada.  They  will  be  here  abou.  five  this  after- 
noon." 

"  Well,  never  mind.    There  is  nothing  in  that  to  scare  you." 

"I  am  not  scared,  but  I  wish  that  interview  was  over."' 

"Yes;  I  shall  be  glad  when  it  is;  though  I  shall  not(;i)trudeon  his 
Royal  Highness.  (I  suppose  he  is  coming  as  well  as  she.)  I  shall 
be  in  the  house,  so  you  can  send  for  me  if  you  want  me." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Payne  ;  you  are  very  good  to  me.  I  feel  that  I 
ought  not  to  stay  here  crowding  up  your  house." 

"  Nonsense  !  I  am  not  in  such  a  hurry  to  find  a  new  inmate.  I 
shall  not  like  any  one  as  well  as  you.  I  wish  I  could  give  up  and 
live  in  a  neat  little  cottage,  but  I  cannot.  Indeed,  if  you  think  I  may, 
I  should  like  to  mention  this  deplorable  change  in  your  fortunes  to 
Mrs.  Needham.  She  knows  everv  one,  and  can  bring  all  sorts  of 
people  tog'ether  if  she  likes." 

"By  all  means,  Miss  Payne.  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
not." 

And  after  a  little  more  conversation  Katherine  went  back  to  her 
occupation  of  arranging  her  belongings  and  wardrobe,  that  when 
■  the  moment  of  parting  came  she  might  be  quite  ready  to  go. 
*,  To  wait  patienely  for  that  which  you  know  will  be  painful  is  tor- 
ture of  no  mean  order.  It  was  somewhat  curtailed  for  Katherine  on 
that  memorable  day,  for  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ormonde  arrived  half  an 
t^hour  sooner  than  she  expected. 

'   They  had  driven   direct  from  the  station  to  Wilton  Street,  and 
Catherine  saw  at  a  glance  that  both  were  greatly  disturbed. 


242  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

'•Katherine,  what  is  the  meaning:  of  your  dreadful  letter?"  cried 
Mrs.  Ormonde,  without  any  previous  greeting,  while  the  Colonel 
barked  a  g-ruff  "  How  d'ye  do?" 

"  My  letter,  Ada,  I  ani  sorry  to  say,  meant  what  it  said,"  returned 
Katherine,  sadly,  "Do  sit  down,  and  let  jxs  discuss  what  is  best  to 
be  done." 

"What  can  be  done  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ormonde,  bursting  into 
tears. 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  let  us  have  tears  and  nonsense," said  Colo- 
nel Ormonde,  roughly.  "Tell  me,  Katherine,  is  it  possible  Newton 
means  to  give  in  to  this  impostor?  Why  does  he  not  demand  projxir 
proof,  and  throw  the  whole  business  into  chanceiy  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Newton  could  not  doubt  George  Liddell's  story. 
He  could  not  go  back  from  his  own  involuntary  recognition,  nor 
could  I  pretend  to  doubt  what  I  believe  is  true." 

"  Pooh  !  that  is  high-flown  bosh.  You  need  not  say  what  j^ou  do 
or  do  not  believe.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  throw  the  onus  of  proof 
on  this  fellow." 

"It  is  all  too  dreadful,"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde,  in  tearful  tones.  "  To 
think  that  you  will  allow  yourself  to  be  robbed,  and  permit  the  dear 
boys  to  be  reduced  to  beggary,  for  a  mere  crochet — it  is  too  bad.  I 
never  will  believe  this  horrid' man  is  the  person  he  represents  him- 
self to  be  ;  never." 

' '  I  wish  you  would  go  and  speak  to  Mr.  Newton.  He  would  explain 
the  folly  of  resisting." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that  he  is  not  bribed?"  returned  Mrs. 
Ormonde,  with  "a  little  sob.  "  E^ery  one  knows  what  dreadful 
wretches  lawyers  are.  And  though  I  dare  say  you  meant  well, 
Katherine,  but  having  induced  us  to  believe  you  would  provide  for 
the  boys,  it  is  a  lit  Je  hard — indeed  very  hard — on  Colonel  Ormonde 
to  have  them  thrown  back  on  his  hands,  and  it  is  really  your  duty 
to  do  something  to  relieve  us." 

"  Back  on  mj"- hands  !"  echoed  the  Colonel.  "I'll  not 'take  them 
back.  Why  should  I  ?"  I  have  been  completely  swindled  in  tha 
whole  business.  I  am  the  last  man  to  support  another  fellow's  brats. 
Why  didn't  that  old  lawyer  of  yours  ascertain  whether  your  uncle's 
son  was  dead  or  alive  before  he  let  you  pounce  upon  the  projierty 
and  play  Lady  Bountiful  with  what  tlid  not  belong  to  you  ?"  And 
Colonel  Ormonde  paced  the  room  in  a  fury,  all  chivalrous  tradition 
melting  away  in  the  fierce  heat  of  disappointed  greed. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  lind  fault  with  me,"  cried  Katherine,  stung 
to  self-assertion.  "  I  did  well  and  generously  by  your  children  and 
3'ourself,  Ada  (I  must  sa}''  so,  as  you  seem  tofol-g-et  it).  There  is 
more  cause  to  sympathize  with  me  ija  the  reverse  that  has  befallen 
me  than  to  throw  the  blame  of  what  is  inevitable  on  one  who  is  a 
greater  suffei*er  than  yourselves.  Do  you  not  know  that  the  worst 
pang  my  bitterest  enemy — had  I  one— could  inflict  is  to  feel  I  must 

five  up' the  bovs?  Matters  are  still  unsettled,  but  if  my  cousin  can'> 
e  induced  to  deal  mercifully  Avith  me,  and  not  absorb  my  little  all, 
to  liquidate  what  is  legally  "due  to  him,  I  will  gladly  keep  Cis  and 
Charlie,  and  give  them  what  I  have,  rather  than  throw  them  or  , 
Colonel  Ormonde's  charity.     I  am  deeply  sorry  for  your  disappoints 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  243 

ment,  but  I  have  done  nothing"  to  irritate  Colonel  Ormonde  into  for- 
g-etting-  what  is  due  to  a  lady  and  his  wife's  benefactress."  Kather- 
ine  was  thoroug-hly  roused,  and  stood,  head  erect,  withg-lowing  eyes, 
and  soft  red  lips  curling-  with  disdain. 

"I  always  said  she  was  violent;  didn't  I,  Duke?"  sobbed  Mrs. 
Ormonde.     "  Katherine,  you  do  amaze  me." 

"  There  is  no  denying  she  is  a  plucky  one,"  he  returned,  with  a 
gvuff  laugh.  "I  too  deny  that  you  should  consider  it  a  misfortune 
for  the  boys  to  come  under  my  care.  I  owe  a  duty  to  my  own  son, 
and  am  not  g-oing-  to  play  the  g-enerous  step-^ther  to  his  hurt.  If  . 
you  can't  come  to  advantageous  terms  with  this— this  impostor,  as  I  ' 
verily  believe  he  is,  I'll  send  the  boys  to  the  Bluocoat  School  or  some 
such  institution.    They  have  turned  out  very  g-ood  men  before  this. " 

"  I  am  sure  we  could  expect  no  more  from  Colonel  Ormonde,  and 
when  you  think  that  I  shall  be  entirely  dependent  on  him  for  " — 
sob— "my  very  gowns" — sob — "and— and  little  outings— and"  a 
total  break  down. 

"If  I  am  penniless,"  said  Katherine,  controlling  her  inclination  to 
screaln  aloud  with  agony,  "  I  must  accept  your  offer— any  offer  that 
will  provide  for  my  nephews.  If  not,  I  will  devote  myself  and  what 
I  have  to  them.  1  really  wish  you  would  go  and  see  Mr.  Newton  ; 
he  will  make  you  understand  matters  better  than  I  can  ;  and  as  you 
have  come  in  such  a  spirit,  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  leave  me. 
I  cannot  look  on  you  as  friends,  considering  how  you  have  spoken." 

"By  George  !"  interrupted  the  Colonel,  much  astonished.  "  This 
is  giving  us  the  turn-out." 

"What  ingratitude  !"  cried  his  wife,  with  pious  indignation,  as 
she  rose  and  tied  on  her  veil. 

Her  further  utterance  was  arrested,  for  the  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  Francois  announced,  "Mr.  Errington." 

A  great  stillness  fell  upon  them  as  Errington  walked  in,  cool,  cdi- 
lected,  well  dressed,  as  usiial. 

"Very  glad  to  meet  you  here,  Mrs.  Ormonde,"  he  said,  when  he 
had  shaken  hands  with  Katherine.  "Miss  Liddell  has  need  of  all 
her  friends  at  such  a  crisis.  How  do,  Colonel ;  you  look  the  incarna- 
tion of  healthy  country  life." 

"Ah— ah  .-I'm  very  well,  thank  you,"  somewhat  confusedly. 
"Just  been  trying  to  persuade  Miss  Liddell  here  to  dispute  this 
preposterous  claim.    I  don't  believe  this  man  is  the  real  thing." 

"I  am  afraid  he  is,"  gravely  ;  "  I  know  him,  for  John  Liddell  was 
a  friend  of  my  fatiier's  in  early  life,  and  I  feel  satisfied  this  man  is 
his  son." 

"You  do.  Well,  I  shall  speak  to  my  own  lawyers  and  Newton 
about  it :  one  can't  give  up  everything  at  the  first"  demand  to  stand 
and  deliver." 

"No  ;  neither  is  it  wise  to  throw  good  money  after  bad.  We 
were  just  going  to  Mr.  Newton's,  so  I'll  say  good-morning.  Till  to- 
morrow, Katherine.     I'll  report  what  Newton  says." 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Errington,"  said  Mrs.  Ormonde,  pulling 
herself  together,  and  her  veil  down.  "This  is  a  terrible  business! 
I  feel  it  as  acutely  as  if  it  were  myself— I  mean  my  own  case.  I  am 
sure  it  is  so  good  of  you  to  come  and  see  Katherine.    I  hope  yov 


244  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

will  ffive  us  a  few  daj'S  at  Castleford."    So  murmuring  and  with  a 
painful  smile,  she  hastened  downstairs  after  her  husband. 

Then  Erring-ton  closed  the  door  and  returned  to  where  Katherine 
stood,  white  and  ti-embling*,  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  "I  am 
afraid  your  kinsfolk  have  been  but  Job's  comforters,"  he  said, 
looking'  earnestly  into  her  eyes,  his  own  so  guave  and  compassionate 
that  her  heart  grew  calmer  under  their  gaze.  "  You  are  greatly 
disturbed." 

"They  have  been  verv  cruel,"  she  murmured.  "  Yet,  not  know- 
ing all  you  do,  they  could  not  know  how  cruel.  They  are  so  angry 
because  what  I  tried  to  do  for  the  boys  proved  a  failuVe.  I  hey  little 
dream  how  guilty  I  feel  for  having  created  this  confusion.  If  I  am 
obliged  to  give  up  Cis  an!  Charlie  to — to  Colonel  Ormonde,  th;'.ir  lot 
will  be  a  miserable  one  !"  She  spoke  brokenly,  and  her  eyes  brim- 
med over,  the  drops  hanging  on  her  long  lasli'es. 

"Sit  down.  Miss  Liddell.    I  am  deeply  grieved  to  see  you  so  de- 
pressed.   I  have  ventured  to  call  because  I  have  a  pint's  point  of 
hope  for  you,  which  I  trust  will  excuse  me  for  presenting  myself,, 
as  I  know  you  would  rather  not  see  me."  "  f 

"  To-day  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  shoiUd  always  be  glad  to  see 
you  tut—but  for  my  own  conscience.  Do  not  misunderstand  me." 
With  a  sudden  impulse  she  stretched  out  her  fair  salt  hand  to  him. 
He  took  and  held  it,  wondering  to  find  that  although  so  cold  when 
first  he  touched  it,  it  grew  quickly  warm  in  his  grasp. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  "gentl\%  and  still  held  her  hand;  "you 
give  me  infinite  pleasure.  Now  "—releasing  her—"  for  my  exciise. 
Amono-  my  poor  father's  papers  were  a  few  letters  of  very  old  date 
from  John  Liddell,  in  which  was  occasional  mention  of  his  boy.  It 
struck  me  these  might  be  a  modus  oj>eraii(li,  aiod  enable  me  approach 
a  difficult  subject.  I  contrived  to  meet  your  cousin  at  Mr.  Newton's, 
and  he  permitted  me  to  call.  I  gave  him  the  letters,  and  we  became 
— not  friends — but  friendly  at  le  st."  Here  his  face  brightened. 
"  We  began  to  talk  of  you,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  bitter  and  vindic- 
tive against  you  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  He  grew  comraunlca- 
cative,  and  I  was  able  to  represent  to  him  the  cruelty  and  unreason- 
ableness of  his  conduct.  At  last — only  to  day — he  suddenly  exclaimed, 
'How  much  of  my  money  has  that  nice  young  lady  made  away 
with?'  I  could  not,  of  couVse,  give  him  any  particulars,  but  having 
learned  from  himself  that  he  had  amassed  agood  deal  of  money  him- 
self, and  that  with  the  addition  of  //oi/>- fortune  (I  cannot  help  calling 
it  yours)  he  would  really  be  a  man  of  wealth,  I  ventured  to  suggest 
that  he  should  not  demand  the  refunding  of  what  you  had  used 
while  in  possession  of  the  property,  and  showed  him  what  a  bad  im- 
pression it  would  create  in  the  minds  of  those  among  whom  he  evi- 
dently wishes  to  make  a  place  for  himself.  He  thought  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  said  he  would  consider  the  matter  and  consult 
his  legal  advisers  before  coming  to  a  decision,  adding  that  he  did  not 
understand  how  it  was  that  they  as  well  as  myself  were  on  y oin-  side. 
Then  I  left  him,  and  I  feel  a  strong  impression  that  he  will' lay  aside 
his  worst  intentions.  I  only  trust  he  will  spare  whatever  balance 
may  stand  to  your  cr.'Hlit  with  your  banker." 

"You  have  indeed  done  me  a  great  service,"  cried  Katherine.  "II 


k  CROOKED  PATU"*  245 

George  Liddell  does  as  you  sug-gest  I  shall  not  be  afraid  to  face  the 
future.  I  shall  surely  he  able  to  find  some  employment  myself  ; 
then  I  need  not  importune  Colonel  Ormonde  for  my  nephews." 

"  He  will  surely  not  leave  them  without  means,"  cried  Erring-ton. 

"I  am  not  sure.  They  have  no  leg^al  claim  upon  him,  and  he  is 
very  angry  with  me  for  causing'  such  confusion,  though — 

— "Though,"  interrupted  Errington,  "  your  only  error  was  over- 
generosity." 

'■'■My  oiil;/  error,  Mr,  Errino-ton  !" — castin"-  down  her  eyes  and 
iiit'.'r lacing  her  fingers  nervously.     "  If  he  only  knew!" 

"But  he  does  not;  he  never  shall!"  exclaimed  Errington,  with 
animation,  drawing  unconsciously  nearer.  "That  is  a  secret  be- 
tween you  and  me.  None  shall  ever  know  our  secret.  All  I  ask  is 
that  you  will  forgive  me  for  my  unfortunate  precipitancy  in  destroy- 
ing the  means  of  saving  you,  vvhich  you  had  placed  in  my  hands— 
that  j^ou  will  forgive  me,  and  let  me  be  your  friend.  It  is 
so  painful  to  see  you  shrink  from  me  as  you  do." 

"Can  you  wonder,  guilty  as  I  feel  myself  to  be?"  But  if  you  so 
far  overlook  my  evil  deeds  as  to  think  me  worth  your  friendship,  I 
am  glad  and  grateful  to  accept  it.  As  to  forgiveness,  what  have  I 
to  forgive  ? — your  haste  to  save  me  from  the  possibility  of  discov- 
ery ?" 

'"  Then,"  said  Errington,  who  had  gazed  for  a  moment  in  silence 
on  his  companion,  whose  face  was  slightly  turned  from  him,  every 
line  of  her  pliant  figure,  from  the  gracefuldrooping  head  to  the  point 
of  her  shoe  peeping  from  under  her  soft  gray  dress,  expressed  a  sort 
of  pathetic  humility,  "  will  you  give  me  some  idea  of  your  plans,  if 
you  have  any  ?" 

"  They  are  very  vague.  I  have  a  small  income  apart  from  my 
uncle's  property.  1  earnestly  hope  it  will  be  enough  to  educate  the 
boys.  Then  I  must  try  to  find  employment— something  that  will 
enable  me  to  provide  for  mvself.  Miss  Payne  is  already  looking  out 
for  me.    That  is  all  I  can  think  of." 

"  It  is  a  tremendous  undertaking  for  a  young  girl  like  you,"  said 
Errington,  looking  down  in  deep  thou^-ht.  'But  I  think  I  under- 
stand that  the  crudest  trial  of  all  would  be  to  part  with  the  boy. s. 
Still  it  is  not  wise  to  alloAV  Mrs.  Ormonde  to  thrust  her  .sons  on  you, 
though  I  never  can  believe  that  Ormonde  could  act  so  dastardly  a 
part  as  to  refuse  to  do  his  part  in  maintaining  them.  There,  again, 
the  fear  of  what  society  would  say  will  do  more  than  a  sense  of  jus- 
tice or  honor.  I  don't  believe  Ormonde  will  dare  refuse  to  contribute 
his  quota  to  the  support  of  his  wife's  sons." 

"  Perhaps  not.  I  wish  I  could  do  without  it.  But  though  Ada 
was  harsh  and  imreasonable  to-day,  I  am  sorry  for  her.  It  must  be 
dreadful  to  be  tied  to  a  man  who  looks  on  you  as  a  burden." 

"  She  will  manage  him.  Their  natures  are  admirably  suited. 
Neither  is  too  exalted.  And  Mrs.  Ormonde  has  establishai  herself 
very  firmly  as  mistress  of  Castleford  and  the  Colonel." 

"I  hope  so."  There  was  a  short  silence.  Then  Errington  said,  in 
a  low  tone,  looking  kindly  into  her  face,  "  I  trust  you  do  not  feel  too 
despondent  as  regards  the  future." 

"Fftr  from  it,"  returned  Kathe^i^e,  with  t^  brief  bright  smile. 


246  A  CROOKED    PATH. 

"  If  only  I  can  bring  up  my  dear  boys  without  too  great  privations, 
and  fit  tliatr.  to  work  thjir  way  in  life  !  From  my  short  experience! 
sliould  say  that  riches  can  buy  littlo  true  happiness.  Extreme  pov- 
erty is  terrible  and  degrading.  Nor  can  money  alone  confer  any 
true  jo  vs." 

"So  1  have  found,"  said  Errington,  thoughtfully;  "and  I  can  see 
that  to  you  too  the  finery  and  distractions  which  wealth  gathers 
together  are  mere  dust  heaps." 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  by  the  appearance  of  Miss  Payne,  who 
had  only  just  discovenid  that  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ormonde  had  left, 
and  was  not  aware  that  Katherinehad  another  visitor.  After  a  little 
further  and  somewhat  desultoiy  conversation  Errington  took  leave; 
nor  was  Katherine  sorry,  for  the  presence  of  Miss  Payne  S3emed  to 
have  set  them  as  far  apart  as  ever,  and  how  near  they  had  drawn 
for  a  few  moments  ! 

"So  that  is  Mr.  Errington  !"  said  Miss  Payne,  when  the  door  had 
closed  upon  him.  "He  has  never  been  here'beforer"'  The  tone  )m8 
interrogative. 

"  Mr.  Errington  has  some  acquaintance  with  George  Liddell," 
returned  Katherine,  "and  has  very  kindly  done  his  best  to  dissuade 
him  from  claiming  the  money  I  have  expended." 

"  HoAv  very  goM  ofliim  !  I  am  sure  I  trust  he  will  succeed!" 
exclaimed  Miss  Payne.  "Now  tell  me  how  did  Colonel  Ormonde 
and  your  sister-in-law  behave  ?" 

Whereupon  Katherine  recounted  all  that  had  been  said.  ^lany 
and  cynical  were  Miss  Payne's  remarks  on  the  occasion,  but  Kather- 
ine scarcely  heard  her.  "That  Errington  should  take  so  deep  an 
interest  in  her,  should  persist  in  wishing  to  be  her  friend,  was  infinite- 
ly sweet  and  consoling.  He  was  transparently  true,  and  she  did 
not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  he  was  sincere  in  afl  he  said.  Still  she 
could  not  forget  the  sense  of  humiliation  his  presence  always  inflict- 
ed. It  was  always  delightful  to  speak  to  him,  and  to  hear  him  speak. 
"What  would  she  not  ^ive  to  be  able  to  stand  upright  before  him  and 
dare  to  assert  herself?  How  silent  and  dull  and  commonplace  she 
must  appear!  not  a  bit  natural  or—  She  would  think  no  more  of 
him.  Why  was  his  face  ever  before  her  oyes  ?  She  would  not  be 
haunted  in  that  way. 

Here  Bertie  Payne's  entrance  created  a  diversion,  which  was  most 
welcome.  He  was  looking  white  and  ill,  as  though  suffering  from 
some  mental  strain,  Katherine  observed,  and  then  remembered  that 
he  had  been  very  silent  and  grave  of  late  ;  but  he  replied  cheerfully 
to  her  inquiries,  and  exerted  himself  k)  do  the  agreeable  during 
dinner,  for  which  he  staid. 

Katherine  almost  hoped  for  a  summons  from  Mr.  Newton  next 
day,  also  for  some  communication  from  Mrs.  Ormonde,  but  none 
reached  her.  Still  she  possessed  her  soul  in  patience,  fortified  by 
the  recollection  of  her  interview  with  her  new  friend. 

It  was  wet,  and  Katherine  did  not  venture  out,  having  a  slight 
cold.  She  tried  to  read,  to  write,  to  play,  but  she  could  not  give  her 
attention  to  anything.  It  was  an  anxious  crisis  of  her  fate,  and  the 
eense  of  her  isolation  pressed  upon  her  more  heavily  than  ever.    She 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  247 

really  had  no  family  ties.  Friends  were  kind,  but  she  had  no  claim 
on  them  or  they  on  her.  Colonel  and  Mi's.  Ormonde  had  ceased  to 
exist  for  her.  How  would  her  future  life  be  colored?  From  conse- 
cutive thought  she  passed  to  va""ue  reverie,  from  which  she  was 
g-lad  to  he  roused  by  the  return  of  Miss  Payne,  who  never  staid  in 
for  any  weather. 

"  Where  do  you  think  I  have  been?"  asked  Miss  Payne,  untying 
bar  bonnet  strings  as  she  sat  down. 

''How  can  I  guess ?    Your  wanderings  are  various. " 

"  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Needham,  and  1  am  very  glad  I  did.  I  found 
her  just  bursting  with  curiosity.  All  sorts  of  reports  have  got 
about  respecting  your  cousin  and  your  loss  of  fortune,  and  she  was 
enchanted  to  get  tlie  whule  truth  from  me.  Besides,  she  has  just 
been  applied  to  by  the  friends  of  a  girl  only  sixteen  to  find  a  proixir 
chaperon.  She  is  full  of  enthusiasm  about  us  both,  and  begged  me, 
and  you  too,  to  dine  with  her  the  day  after  to-morrow  to  meet  a  Miss 
Bradley,  the  relative  or  friend  of  the  sixteen-year-old.  We  are  to 
look  at  each  other,  and  are  supposed  to  be  in  total  ignorance  of  each 
other's  identity.  Mrs.  Needham  delights  in  small  plots  and  trans- 
parent mysteries." 

"  And  why  am  I  to  go?"  asked  Katherine,  carelessly. 

"  To  make  a  fourth,  and  talk  to  the  hostess  while  I  discourse  with 
Miss  Bradley.'.' 

"Very  well ;  I  will  come." 

**  Any  further  news  to-day  ?"  | 

♦'  Not  a  word  ;  not  a  line." 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

A  DINNER  AT  MBS.   NEEDHAM'b. 

Mrs.  Needham  Avas  a  very  important  at  personage  in  her  own  esti- 
mation, and  very  popular  with  a  large  circle  of  acquaintances.  Most 
of  th^m  thought'  she  was  a  Avidow,  and  only  a  few  old  friends  were 
aware  that  away  in  a  distant  colony  Needham  masculine  was  hid- 
ing his  diminislied  head  from  creditors  of  various  kinds  and  jHinal- 
ties  of  many  descriptims,  not  in  penitence,  but  with  as  much  of 
enjoyment  as  could  be  extracted  from  the  simple  materials  of  anti- 
podean life.  Having  taken  with  him  all  the  cash  he  could  lav 
hands  upon,  his  deserted  wife  w.as  left  to  do  battle  alone  on  a  small 
income  which  was  her  own,  and  fortunately  secui-ed  to  her  on  her 
marriage. 

She  was  much  too  energetic  to  sit  still  when  she  might  work 
and  earn  money.  The  editor  of  a  provincial  paper,  a  friend  of  early 
days,  gave  her  space  in  his  columns  for  a  weekly  letter,  and  an  in- 
troduction to  a  London  coti/irrc.  On  this  slender  foundation  she 
built  her  humble  fortunes.  Thei'e  wei'C,  in  truth,  few  happier  wo- 
fmen  in  London.  Brimful  of  interest  in  all  the  undertakings  (and 
\their  name  was  legion)  in  which  she  was  concerned,  kind  and  un- 
selfish,  though  quite  free  from  sentinent,  her  life  was  full  of  move- 


248  i.  CROOKED  PATa 

merit  and  color.  She  had  an  enormous  capacity  for  absorbing  the 
marvellous,  quite  uninfluenced  by  the  natural  shrewdness  with 
which  she  acted  in  all  ordinary  mattei-s.  In  a  bri^-ht  surface  way 
she  was  clever  and  full  of  ideas— ideas  which  others  took  up  and 
fructified— from  which  Mrs.  Needham  herself  derived  no  beiieiit  be- 
yond the  pleasure  of  imparting  them.  She  was  constantly  taken  in  by 
barefaced  impostors,  j^et  at  times,  and  in  an  accidental  May,  hit 
on  wonderfully  accurate  estimates  of  persons  whom  the  g-eiiera! 
public  credited  with  widely  different  qualities. 

She  had  a  nice  little  old-fashioned  house  in  Kensing'ton,  with  a 
pretty  garden,  just  large  enough  to  allow  of  visitors  being  avcII  wet 
m  rainy  weather  betwec«n  the  garden  gate  and  the  hall  door.  This 
diminutive  mansion  was  crammed  with  curios,  specimens  of  cli'na, 
of  carved  wood,  of  Japanese  lacquer— these  much  rarer  than  at  jjres- 
ent.  It  was  a  pleasant  abode  withal ;  a  kindly,  generous,  happy- 
go-lucky  spirit  pervaded  it.  Few  coming  to  seek  help  therejvere 
sent  empty  away,  and  the  owner's  earnest  consideration  wasTeady 
for  all  who  sought  her  advice.  It  was  real  joy  to  her  to  entertain 
her  friends  in  an  easy,  unceremonious  way,  and  her  friends  were 
equally  pleased  to  accept  her  hospitality. 

On  the  pi-esent  occasion  Mrs.  Needham  was  deeply  interested  in 
her  expected  guests.  Katherine  Liddell  had  pleased  her  from  the 
first,  practical  and  unsentimental  as  she  was.  She  was  dispo.scd  to 
weave  a  little  romance  round  the  bright  sympathetic  girl,  who 
listened  so  graciously  to  her  schemes  and  projects,  whose  brightness 
had  under  it  a  strain  of  tender  sadness,  whicli  gave  an  indescribable' 
subtle  charm  to  her  manner.  Miss  Payne  she  had  known  more  or 
less  for  a  considerable  time,  and  regarded  as  a  worthy,  usi^ful 
woman  ;  while  her  third  guest  was  the  only  child  of  the  wealthy 
publisher  George  Bradley,  the  owner  of  that  new  and  flourishing 
publication,  The  Picccdtll'i  Rerwir,  wherein  those  brilliant  articles 
on  "Our  Colonial  System, "" Modern  European  Politics,"  etc., 
supposed  to  be  from  the  pen  of  Miles  Errington,  appeared. 

"A /wr/j?  cffr>vc  of  ladies  does  not  seem  to  promise  much,"  said 
Mrs.  Needham,  when  she  had  greeted  Miss  Payne  and  "her  young 
friend,"  into  which  position  Katherine  had  sunk;  "but  unless  I  could 
have  three  or  four  men  it  is  better  to  have  none  ;  besides  we  want  t  • , 
talk  of  business,  and  men  under  such  circumstances  always  e.\c!i:(     | 
us,  so  I  don't  see  why  we  should  admit  them.    Miss  Bradley— i;L 
Payne,  Miss  Liddell,' of  Avhom  you  have  heard  me  speak." 

Miss  Bradley  rose  from  the  sofa,  where  she  was  half  reclininu; 
beside  a  bright  wood  lire,  a  tall  stately  figure  in  a  long  pale  bine 
plush  dre.ss,  cut  low  in  front,  and  tiid  loosely  with  a  knot  of  blue 
satin  ribbon,  nestlin^'  among  the  rich  yellow  white  lace  which  fell 
from  the  edge  of  the  bodice.  She  was  extremely  fair,  even  colorles.s, 
v/ith  abundant  but  somewhat  s.iudy  hair.  Her  features  were  regu- 
lar and  marked,  a  well-shapad  head  was  gracefully  set  on  a  firm 
wliite  column-like  throat,  and  her  eyes  were  clear  and  cold  Avhen  in 
repose,  but  darkened  and  lit  up  when  speaking  of  whatever  rou.sed 
and  interested  her.  Indeed,  she  looked  strong  and  stern  when 
silent. 

♦«  I  am  very  pleased  to  meet  you,"  she  said,  in  a  full,  pleasant  voice. 


A   CROOKED   PATH.  249 

"I  Lave  often  heard  of  you  from  Mrs.  Needham,  and  I  think  you 
know  a  friend  of  mine— llr.  Erringtqn." 

"Yes;  I  knovr  him,"  returned.  Katherine,  feeling  her  face 
aflame. 

"  I  have  heard  of  you  too,"  continued  Miss  Bradley,  addressing- 
Miss  Payne,  "  from  several  mutital  friends,  thought  we  have 
never  happened  to  meet  before.  I  think  you  had  just  left  Rome  with 
Miss  Jenning-s  when  I  arrived  there  some  four  years  ago." 

"I  had  :  and  remember  vou  were  expected  there." 

"Miss  Jennings  married  a  relation  of  mine,  and  I  see  her  very 
often,  at  least  often  for  London,  She  really  looks  younger,  if  possi- 
ble, than  formerly,"  etc.,  etc.,  and  their  talk  flowed  in  the  Jennings 
channel  for  a  few  minutes." 

Meanti-ne  Mrs.  Needham.  passing  her  arm  throug'h  Katherine's, 
led  her  aAvay  to  a  very  diminutive  back  room,  di'aped  and  car- 
peted with  Oriental  stuffs,  then  beginning  to  be  the  fashion,  and 
crammed  with  all  imaginable  ornaments  and  specimens,  from  bits  of 
rare  "  Capo  di  monti  •'  to  funny  sixpenny  toys.  "I  have  just  found 
such  a  treasure,"  she  exclaimed;  "a  real  saucer  of  old  Chelsea,  and 
only  a  small  bit  out  of  this  side.  Isn't  Angela  Bradley  handsome  ? 
She  is  a  very  remarkable  girl,  or  perhaps  I  ought  to  say  woman. 
She  speaks  four  or  hve  languages,  and  plays  divinely;  then  she  is  a 
capital  critic.  It  was  she  who  advised  her  father  to  publish  that  very 
singular  book,  The  Gorgon's  Head;  every  publisher  in  London  had 
refused  it.  He  took  it,  and  has  cleared— oh,  I'd  be  afraid  to  say  how 
much  money  by  it." 

"I  hope  the  writer  got  a  fair  share,"  said  Katherine,  smiling. 

"Hum  !  ah,  that's  another  matter;  but  I  dare  say  Bradley  will 
treat  him  quite  as  fairly  as  any  one  else.  She  will  have  a  big  fortune 
one  of  these  days.    Her  father  perfectly  adores  her." 

"  I  wish  I  could  write,"  said  Katherine,  with  a  sigh.  "It  must  be 
a  charming  way  to  earn  money."  . 

"  Why  don't  you  try  ?  You  seem  to  me  to  have  plenty  of  brains* 
and  I  suppose  vou  will  have  to  do  something.  I  was  so  sorrv— ' 
Mrs.  Needham"  was  beginning,  when  dinner  was  announced,  and  her 
sympathetic  utterances  were  cut  short. 

"  The  repast  was  admirable,  erring  pei»haps  on  the  side  side  of  plen- 
teousness,and  well  served  by  two  smart  young  women  in  black, with 
pink  ribbons  in  their  caps.  NorAvasthereanylackof  brighttal  agood 
deal  beyond  the  average.  Miss  Bradley  was  an  admi'i-able  listener, 
and  often  by  well-put  qiiestions  or  suggestions  kept  the  ball  rolling. 
Dinner  was  soon   over,  and   coffee   was   served   in  the  drawing- 

"  Now,  Miss  Pavne,  I  should  like  to  consult  with  you,"  said  Miss 
Bradley,  putting  "her  cud  on  the  mantel-pi^ce,  and  resuming  her 
seat  on  the  sofa'  where  she  invited  Miss  Payne  by  a  gesture  to  sit 
beside  her,  "  al)out  the  daughter  of  an  okl  friend  of  mine,  who  does 
not  want  her  to  join  him  in  India,  as  slie  is  rather  delicate,  and  ho 
cannot  retire  for  a  couple  of  years.^  It  is  time  she  left  school,  and 
the  question  is,  where  shall  sh«  go?"  ^.    , 

AVTiiie  Miss  Bradlev  thus  attacked  the  subject  uppermost  in  her 
mind  Mrs.  Needham  settled  herself  in  an  arm-chair  as  far  asshe  could 
from  the  speakers,  and  asked  Katherine  to  sit  down  beside  her.     ■ 


250  A  CROOKED   PATH. 

** Let  them  discuss  their  business  without  us,"  she  said,  "and I 
want  to  talk  to  yo*.  Here,  these  arc  some  rathar  interesting"  photo- 
graphs. Tliey  "arj  all  actors  or  singers  on  this  side;  you'll  obscirve 
the  shape  of  the  heads,  the  contour  g-enerally  ;  these  are  politicians, 
and  have  quite  a  diiferent  aspect.  Remarkal>le,  isn't  it  ?  But  I  was 
just  saying-  when  we  went  down  to  dinner  that  I  was  awfully  sorry 
to  hear  of  all  your  troubL^s— of  course  we  must  not  regret  that  the 
man  is  alive;  th'jugh  if  he  is  a  cross-grained  creature,as  he  seems  to 
be,  life  won't  be  much  good  to  him— and  I  shall  be  greatly  interested 
if  j'ou  care  to  tell  me  what  your  plans  are  " 

''  I  really  have  none.  THere  are  several  things  T  could  do  pretty 
well.  I  could  teach  music  and  language's,  but  it  is  so  difficult  to 
find  pupils.  Then  1  am  still  in  great  uncertainty  as  to  what  my 
cousin  ma3^  do." 

"  He  is  a  greedy  savage,"  said  Mrs.  Needham,  emphatically  ; 
"but  he  will  not  dare  to  demand  the  arrears.  He  would  Wise  a 
howl  of  execration  by  such  conduct.  Now,  as  you  have  nothing 
settled,  and  if  Angela" Bradley  and  Miss  Payne  make  it  up,  you  will 
have  to  leave  where  you  are.    Suppose  you  come  to  me?" 

"To  you?    My  dear  Mrs.  Needham,  it  would  be  delightful," 

"Would  it?  it  is  not  a  very  magnificent  appointment,  I  as.sure 
you.  You  see,  I  have  so  much  to  do  that  I  really  muftt  have  help. 
1  had  a  girl  for  three  or  four  months.  I  gave  her  twenty -five  pounds 
a  year,  and  thought  she  would  be  a  great  comfort,  but  she  made  a 
mess  of  my  room  and  my  papers,  and  could  not  write  a  decent  letter  ; 
besides,  slie  was  discontented,  so  she  left  me,  and  I  have  been  in  a 
horrid  muddle  for  the  last  fortnight  Now  if  you  like  to  come  to 
me,  while  you  are  looking  out  for  something  better,  I  am  sure  I 
shall  be  charmed,  and  will  do  all  I  can  to  push  you.  It's  a  miserable 
sort  of  engagement,  but  there  it  is  ;  only  I'll  want  you  to  co.i.6  as 
soon  as  you  can,  for  there  are  heaps  to  do." 

"  Indeed  I  am  delighted  to  be  your  help,  or  secretary,  or  whatever 
you  choose  to  call  me,  and  as  for  looking  for  something  better,  if  I 
can  only  save  enough  to  provide  for  the  boys,  1  would  rather  work 
with  you  for  twenty-tive  pounds  a  year  than  any  one  else  for—" 

"  r^or  five  hundred  ?"  put  in  Mrs  Needham,  with  an  indulgent 
smile,  as  she  pau.sed. 

"  No,  no.  Five  hundred  a  year  is  not  to  be  lightly  rejected,"  re 
turned  Katherine,  laughing.  'But  as  I  greatly  doubt  that  I  could 
ever  be  worth  live  hundred  a  year  to  any  one,  I  gladly  accept  twenty- 
five.  "  "  ^ 

"Remember,  I  do  not  expect  you  to  stay  an  hour  after  you  find 
som'^thing  better     Now  do  me  tell  how  matters  stand  with  you." 

Katherine  therefore  unbosomed  herself,  and  among  other  things 
told  how  well  and  faithfully  Rachel  Trant  had  behaved  toward  her, 
of  the  fatherly  kindne.ss  shown  her  by  her  old  lawyer,  and  wound  up 
by  declaring  that  the  world  could  not  be  so  bad  a  place  as  it  is 
reckoned,  s.'eing  that  in  her  reverse  of  fortune  she  had  foiuid  so 
much  consideration.  "  Of  course,''  she  concluded,  "there  are  heap?? 
of  p  'ople  who,  once  I  drop  from  the  ranks  of  those  who  can  enjoy 
and  sp  ;nd,  will  forget  my  existence  ;  but  I  have  no  rig-ht  to  expect 
more.  Tli  \v  only  want  playfellows,  not  friends,  and  a«k  no  more 
than  they  give. " 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  251 

"Quite  true,  my  youno'  philosopher.  Tell  me,  can  you  come  on 
Saturday — come  to  stay  '■' 

'*1  fear  not.    Besides  I  have  a  superstition  about  entering  on  a 
new  abode  on  Saturday.    Don't  laugh  !    But  I  will  come  to-morrow, 
\  if  you  like,  and  write  and  copy  for  you.    I  will  come  each  day  till 
1  Monday  next,  and  so  help  vou  to  clear  up." 

'  "That  is  a  good  child  !  1  wish  1  could  make  it  worth  your  while 
to  stay  ;  but  we  don't  know  what  silver  lining  is  behind  the  dark 
cloud's  of  the  present." 

Katherine  shook  her  head  Mrs.  Needham's  su^-gestion  showed 
her  that  peace  and  a  relieved  conscience  was  the  highest  degree  of 
silvery  brightness  she  anticipated  in  the  future.  One  thing  alone 
could  restore  to  her  the  joyousness  of  her  early  days,  and  that  was 
far  away  out  of  her  reach, 

"  Mr.  Errington  and  Mr.  Payne,"  said  one  of  the  smart  servants, 
throwing  open  the  door. 

"Ah,  yes  !  Mr  Errington,  of  course,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Needham, 
under  her  breach  "I  might  have  expected  him.  And  you  too, 
Mr.  Payne?"  she  added  aloud.     "  Very  glad  to  see  you  both." 

As  soon  as  they  had  paid  their  respects  to  the  hostess,  Errington 
spoke  to  Katherine,  while  Payne  remained  talking  with  Mrs.  Need- 
ham 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  bettei  than  when  we  last  spoke  to- 
gether,'' said  Errington,  pausing  beside  Katherine's  chair.  "Have 
you  had  any  communication  from  Newton  yet?" 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  from  him,  and  feel  very  anxious  to  know 
George  Liddell's  decision.  I  had  a  note  from  Mrs.  Ormonde,  written 
in  a  much  more  friendly  spirit  than  I  had  expected,  but  still  in 
dospair.  She,  vvith  the  Colonel,  had  been  to  demand  explanations 
from  Mr   Newton,  and  do  not  seem  much  cheered  by  the  interview." 

"  No  doubt  the  appearance  of  your  cousin  was  a  tremendous  blow, 
but  they  have  no  right  to  complain  " 

"  However  that  may  be,  I  will  not  quarrel  with  the  boys'  mother, 
in  spite  of  her  unkindness.  I  fear  so  much  to  create  any  barrier 
between  us  " 

"Those  children  are  very  dear  to  you,"  said  Errington,  looking 
down  Oil  ht'.r  with  a  soft  expression  arid  lingering  glance. 

"  Thev  are     1  don't  suppose  you  could  understand  how  dear." 

"  Why  ?  Do  you  think  me  incapable  of  human  affection?"  asked 
Errington.  smiling. 

"  No,  cerfainly  not ;  only  I  imagine  justice  is  more  natural  to  you 
than  love,  though  you  can"  be  generous,  as  I  know." 

Errington  did  not  answer.  He  stood  still,  as  if  some  new  train  of 
thought  had  been  suddenly  suggested  to  him,  and  Katherine  waited 
serenely  for  his  next  words,  when  Miss  Bi-adley,  who  had  not  inter- 
rupted her  conversation,  or  noticed  the  new-comers  in  any  way, 
suddenly  turned  her  face  toward  them,  and  said,  with  something 
like  command,  "Mr.  Errington  !" 

Errington  immediately  obeyed.  Katherine  watched  them  speak- 
iep;  together  for  some  minutes  with  a  curious  sense  of  di.scomfort 
and  dissatisfaction.  Miss  Bradley's  face  looked  softer  and  brighter, 
and  a  sort  of  animation  came  into  her  gestures,  slight  and  dignified 


252  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

though  they  were.  Th^y  si^CiiU'd  Lo  have  much  to  say,  and  said  it 
with  a  certain  amount  of  well-bred  familiarity.  Yes,  they  were 
evidently  friends  ;  very  naturally.  How  happy  she  was  to  be  thus 
free  from  any  painful  consciousness  in  his  presence  !  She  was  as 
•  stainless  as  himself,  could  look  fearlessly  in  his  eyes  and  assert  her- 
self, while  she  (Katherine)  could  only  crouch  "in  profoundest  hu- 
mility, and  gratefully  gather  what  crumbs  of  kindness  and  notic.j 
he  let  fall  for  her  benefit.  It  was  quite  pitiable  to  be  easily  distur- 
bed by  such  insignificant  circumstances.  How  pitiably  weak  she 
was  ! '  So,  with  an  effort,  she  turned  her  attention  to  Mrs.  Needham 
and  Bertie,  who  had  slipped  into  an  argument,  as  they  often  did,  re- 
specting the  best  and  most  etFective  method  of  dealing  with  the  poor. 
In  this  Katherjne  joined  with  somewhat  languid  interest,  quite 
aware  that  Errington  and  Miss  Bradley  grew  more  and  more  ab- 
sorbed in  their  conversation,  till  Miss  Payne,  feeling-  herself  '  irov, 
left  her  j)lace  to  speak  Avith  Mrs.  Needham,  while  Kathcriiu  and 
Bertie  gradually  dropped  into  silence. 

''Miss  Bradley's  carriage,"  was  soon  announced,  and  she  rose  tall 
and  stately,  nearly  as  tall  as  Errington. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  for  running  away  so  soon,  dear  Mrs.  Need- 
ham ?"  siie  said,  but  I  promised  Mrs.  Julian  Starner  to  go  to  her 
musical  party  to-night.  I  am  to  play  the  opening  piece  of  the  second 
part,  so  I  dare  not  stay  longer.  You  are  going  i^" — to  Errington, 
who  bowed  assent.  "Then  I  can  o-ive  you  a  seat  in  my  brougham," 
she  continued,  with  calm,  assureu  serenity. 

''  Thank  you,"  and  Errington,  turning  to  Katherine,  said  quickly: 
"  Will  you'let  me  know  when  you  hear  from  Newton  ?  I  aai  most 
anxioxis  as  regards  Liddell's  decision." 

"  I  will,  certainly.  Good-night."  She  put  her  hand  into  his,  and 
felt  in  some  occult  manner  comfort  by  the  gentle  pressure  with 
which  he  held  it  for  half  a  moment.  Yes,  beaten,  defeated,  punished 
as  she  was,  he  felt  for  her  with  a  noble  compassion.  Ought  not  that 
to  be  enough  ? 

"  Good-night,  Miss  Liddell.  I  hope  you  will  come  and  see  me.  I 
am  always  at  home  on  Tue.sday  afternoons  ;  and  Miss  Payne,  when 
I  have  seen  the  grandmother  of  the  girl  we  have  been  speaking 
about,  1  will  let  you  know,  and  you  will  kindly  take  into  consid(!ra- 
tion  the  points  I  mentioned.  Good-night."  And  she  swept  away, 
leaning  on  Errington's  arm. 

"  Now  that  we  are  by  ourselve.'?,"  .said  Mrs.  Needham,  comfort- 
ably, "I  must  tell  you  what  1  have  been  proposing  to  Miss  Liddcll. 
I  should  like  you  to  know  all  about  it,"  and  she  plunged  into  tiie 
subject.  "  I  "know  it  is  Imt  a  ix)or  offer,"  she  concluded;  "but  for 
the  present  it  is  better  than  nothing,  and  she  can  be  on  the  lookout 
for  something  else." 

Bertie  wisely  held  his  tongue.  Katherine  declared  herself  ready 
and  willing  to  accept  the  oier.  and  Miss  Payne,  with  reso!utj  can- 
dor, declared  that  the  remuneration  was  miserable,  but  that  it  was 
as  well  to  be  doing  something  while  waiting  for  a  better  appoint- 
ment. 

Poor  Katherine  was  terribly  distressed  by  this  frankness,  but 
Mrs.  Needham  was  quite  unmoved.    Sue  said  she  saw  the  force  of 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  253 

what  Miss  Payne  said,  but  there  it  was,  and  it  remained  with  Miss 
Liddell  to  take  or  leave  wiiat  she  sug-g-ested. 

Then  Miss  Payne's  prospects  came  under  discussion,  and  the 
doubtful  circumstances  connected  with  Miss  Bradley's  proposition. 

"Now  it  is  long-  past  ten  o'clock,  and  we  iuu:jt  .-^ay  g-ood-nig-ht,"  re- 
marked Miss  Pii ,  iiii.  "  Really,  Mrs.  Needham,  you  are  a  wonderful 
woman'  You  have  nearly  'placed'  us  both."  How  earnestly  I 
hope  there  are  better  and  brighter  days  before  my  young  friend, 
whom  I  shall  miss  very  much  !" 

"That  I  am  quite  sure.  Well,  she  can  g^o  and  see  you  as  often  as 
you  like.    Now  tell  me,  isn't  Ang-ela  Bradley  a  splendid  creature  ?" 

"She  is  indeed,"  murmured  Katherine. 

"  Well,  there  is  a  g-ood  deal  of  her,"  said  Miss  Payne,  with  a  sniff. 

"Not  too  much  for  Mr.  Erring'ton,  I  think,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Need- 
ham  with  a  knowing' smile.  "1  fancy  that  will  be  a  match  before 
the  season  is  over.  It  will  be  a  capital  thing'  for  Erring'ton.  Old 
Bradley  is  /»»-mensely  rich,  and  I  am  sure  Erring'ton  is  far  gone. 
Well,  good-night,  my  dear  Miss  Payne.  I  am  so  glad  to  think  I  shall 
have  Miss  Liddell  for  a  little  while,  at  all  events.  You  will  come  the 
day  after  to-morrow  at  ten,  won't  you,  and  help  me  to  regulate  some 
of  my  papers?    Good-night,  my  dear,  good-night." 

Mr.  Newton  came  into  his  office  the  afternoon  the  day  following 
Mrs.  Needham's  little  dinner,  His  step  was  alert  and  his  head  erect, 
as  though  he  was  satisfied  with  himself  and  the  world.  A  boy  who 
sat  in  a  box  near  the  door,  to  make  a  note  of  the  flies  walking  into 
the  spider's  parlor,  darted  out,  saying,  "Please  sir,  Miss  Liddell  is 
waiting  for  you." 

"Is  she?  Very  well."  And  the  old  lawyer  went  quickly  along 
the  passage  leading  to  the  other  rooms,  and  opening  the  door  of  his 
own,  found  Kathei-ine  sitting  by  the  table,  a  newspajier,  which  had 
evidentlv  dropped  from  her  hand,  lying  by  her  on  the  carpet.  She 
started  up  to  meet  her  good  friend,  who  was  struck  by  her  pallor 
and  the  sad  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  this  is  lucky!"  exclaimed  Newton,  shaking  hands  with 
her  cordially.  "I  was  going  to  write  to  you,  as  I  wanted  to  see 
you,  and  here  you  are." 

"  I  was  just  beginning  to  fear  I  might  be  trouDlesoma,  but  I 
have  been  so  anxious." 

"Of  course  vou  have.  And  j^ou  have  been  verf  patient,  on  the 
whole.  Well  '"—laving  aside  his  hat,  and  rubb''  f,  his  liands  as  lie 
satdown— "I  have"^just  come  from  consulting  with  Messrs.  Comp- 
ton,  and  I  am  very  happv  to  tell  you  it  is  a^-reed  that  George  Lid- 
dell shall  withdraw  his  claim  to  the  arrears  of  income,  but  not  to  the 
savings  you  have  eil^cted  since  vour  succession  to  the  proi>erty,  also 
the  balance  standing  to  your  name  at  your  banker's  is  not  to  be  in- 
terfered with ;  so  I  think  things  are  arranging  themselves  more 
favorably,  on  the  whole,  than  I  could  have  hojied." 

"  Thev  are,  indeed,"  cried  Katherine,  claspmg  her  hands  together 
in  thankfulness.  "  What  an  immense  relief  !  I  have  more  than  three 
hundred  pounds  in  the  bank,  and  I  have  found  employment  for  the 
present  at  least,  so  I  can  use  my,  little  income  for  the  boys.    How 


254  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Cfln  I  thank  you,  dear  Mr.  Newtrn,  for  a  II  the  trouble  you  have  taken 
for  nie.'"'  Ami  she  took  his  hard,  wrinkled  hand,  pressing'  it  between 
both  hers,  and  looking-  with  sweet  loving  eyes  into  his. 

'•I  am  sure  I  was  quite  ready  to  take  any  trouble  for  you,  my 
dear  young  lady  ;  but  in  this  matter  Mr.  Errington  has  done  most 
o' the  work.  He  has  gained  a  surprising-  degree  of  intluence  over 
your  cousin,  who  is  a  very  curious  customer;  but  for  h  m  (Mr. 
I  rrington,  I  mean),  1  fear  lie  would  have  insisted  on  his  full  rights, 
which  would  have  been  a  bad  business.  However,  that  is  OA-er  now. 
Nor  will  Mr.  Liddell  fare  badly.  Your  .savings  have  a'Ided  clo.se 
on  three  thousand  pounds  to  the  property  which  falls  to  him.  I  am 
surprisL'd  that  he  did  not  try  at  once  to  make  friends  with  you,  for 
his  little  girl's  sake.  I  hear  he  is  in  treaty  for  a  grand  mansion  in 
one  of  the  new  streets  they  are  building  o\  er  at  South  Kensington. 
He  is  trem(  ndously  fond  of  this  little  girl  of  his.  It  seems  Liikk'll 
was  awfully  cut  up  at  the  death  of  his  wife,  about  a  year  and  a  haif 
ago.  He  fancies  that  if  he  had  knoAvn  of  his  father's  death  and  his 
own  succession  he  would  have  come  home,  and  the  voyage  would 
have  saved  her  life.  This,  1  rather  think,  was  at  the  root  of  his 
rancor  against  you." 

"How  unjust!  how  unreasonable  !"  cried  Katherine.  "Now  tell 
me  of  your  interview  with  Mrs.  Ormonde  and  her  husband." 

*'  Well— ah— it  was  not  a  very  ag-reable  half -hour.  I  have  seldom 
seen  so  barefaced  an  exhibition  of  sellishness.  However,  1  think  I 
brought  them  to  their  senses,  certainly  Mrs.  Ormonde,  and  I  am 
determined  to  make  that  fellow  Ormonde  pay  something  towax'd  the 
education  of  his  wife's  sons." 

'I  would  rather  not  have  it,"  said  K^atherine. 

"Nonsense,"  cried  the  lawyer,  sharply.  "  You  or  they  are  entitled 
to  it,  and  you  shall  have  it.  Mrs  Ormonde  evidently  does  not  want 
to  qnaiTi'l  with  you,  nor  is  it  well  for  the  boys'  sake  to  be  at  logger- 
heads with  Iheirmother  " 

"  No,  certainly  not;  but,  Mr  Newton,  I  can  never  be  the  same  to 
her  again.  1  never  can  forgive  her  or  her  husband's  ingratitude  and 
want  of  feeling  " 

"Of  course  not,  and  they  know  you  will  not;  still,  an  open  split  is 
to  l)e  avoided.  Now,  tell  me,  what  is  the  employment  you  men- 
tionc  d }"' 

Katherine  told  him,  and  a  long  eontidential  conversation  ensued, 
wherein  she  explained  her  views  and  intentions,  and  listened  to  her 
old  friends  good  advice  Certain  communication  to  Mrs.  Ormonde, 
were  decided  on,  as  Katherine  agreed  with  Mr  Newton  that  she 
shonld  have  no  further  personal  intercourse  concerning  business 
matters  with  her  sister-in-law. 

'  Bv-the-way."  said  Newton,  "  one  of  the  events  of  the  last  few 
days  was  a  visit  from  your  protegee.  Miss  Trant  I  was  a  good  deal 
struck  with  her.  She  is  a  pretty,  delicate-looking  girl,  yet  she's  as 
hard  as  nails,  and  a  hrst-rate  woman  of  business.  She  seems  deter- 
mined to  make  your  fortune,  for  that  is  just  the  human  touch  about 
her  that  interested  me.  She  doesn't  talk  about  it,  but  her  profound 
gratitude  to  you  is  evidently  her  ruling  motive.  I  am  .«!0  i>ersuadt<l 
that  she  will  develop  a  good  business,  and  that  you  will  ultimately 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  255 

get  a  high  percentage  for  the  money  you  have  advanced— or,  as  j'ou 
thought,  ahnost  given— that  I  am  going  to  trust  her  with  a  little  of 
mine,  just  to  keep  the  concern  free  of  debt  till  it  is  safely  tioatcd." 

"How  very  good  of  you  !"  cried  Katherine  "And  what  a  proof 
of  your  faith  iii  my  friend  !  How  can  you  call  her  hard  ?  To  me  she 
is  "most  sympathetic." 

"Ay,  to  you.  Then  you  sae  she  seems  to  have  devoted  herself  to  vou. 
To  me  she  turned  a  very  hard  bit  of  her  shell.  No  matter.  1  think 
she  is  the  sort  of  woman  to  succeed.  You  have  not  seen  her  since 
— since  her  visit  to  me?" 

"  No.  I  have  not  been  to  see  her  because— not  because  I  was 
busy,  but  idle  and  depressed.  1  will  not  be  so  any  more.  So  many 
friends  have  been  true  and  helpful  to  me  that  1  should  be  ashamed 
of  feelii  g  depressed.  I  will  endeavor  to  prove  myself  a  (irst-rate 
secretary,  and  be  a  credit  to  you,  my  dear  good  friend." 

"That  you  Avill  always  be,  I'm  sure,"  returned  Newton,  warmly. 

"Now  you  must  run  a\\'ay,  my  dear  young  lady,  for  I  have  fifty 
things  to  do.  Your  friend  Miss  Trant  will  tell  you  all  that  passed 
between  us,  and  what  her  plans  are." 

"  I  am  goingtto  pay  -her  a  visit  this  evening.  I  do  not  like  to 
trouble  her  either  in  the  morning  or  afternoon,  she  is  so  busy. 
But  I  always  enioy  a  talk  with  her.  She  is  really  very  well  inform- 
ed, and  rather  original." 

"  I  believe  she  will  turn  out  well.  Good-by,  my  dear  Miss  Liddell. 
I  assure  you,  you  are  not  more  relieved  by  the  result  of  the  morn- 
ing's consultation  than  I  am. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

KATHERINE     IN     OFFICE. 

The  beginning  of  a  new  life  is  rarely  agreeable,  and  when  the  new- 
ness consists  of  jwverty  in  place  of  riches,  of  service  instead  of  com- 
plete freedom,  occupations  not  part  cularly  congenial  instead  of  the 
exercise  of  unfettered  choice,  in  such  matters— why,  the  conii'ast  is 
rather  trying. 

A  fortiiigiit  after  the  interview  just  described,  Katherine  was 
thoroughly  settled  with  Mrs   Necdham. 

Althoug-h  she  justly  considered  herself  most  fortunate  in  finding 
a  home  so  easily,  with  so  pleasant  and  kindly  a  patroness,  she  would 
have  been  more  or  less  than  human  had  she  not  felt  the  chani;;*. 
which  had  befallen  her.  Mrs.  Ormonde's  conduct,  too.  had  wounded 
her,  more  than  it  ought,  perhaps,  for  she  always  knew  h(;r 
sister-in  1  iw  to  be  shallow  and  selfish,  but  not  to  the  degree  which 
she  had  latelv  beti-ayed. 

Her  constant  prayer  was  that  she  should  be  spared  the  torture  of 
having  to  give  up  her  dear  boys  to  such  a  mother  and  such  a  step- 
father. See  thoiight  she  .saw 'little,  loving,  delicate  Charlie  shrink- 
ing into  himself,  and  withering  under  the  contemptuous  indifference 
and  neg-lect  of   the   Castleford    household;    and   Cis— bolder  and 


256  A  CROOKED  PATH, 

strong-er— hardening-    into    defiance    or    deceit   under   the   same 
influence. 

By  the  sort  of  agreement  arrived  at  between  Mr.  Newton  and 
Mrs.  Ormonde,  it  was  decided  that  so  long-  as  Katherine  provided  for 
the  maintenance  of  her  nephews,  their  motlier  was  only  entitled  to 
have  them  with  her  durin<*-  the  Christmas  holidays  ;  and  Colonel 
Ormonde  was  with  some  difficulty  persuaded  to  allow  the  munificent 
sum  of  thirty  pounds  a  year  toward  the  education  of  his  step-sons. 

'I'his  definite  settlement  was  a  g-reat  relief  to  Katherine's  heart. 
How  earnestly  she  resolved  to  keep  herself  on  her  infinitesimal 
stipi-nd,  and  save  every  other  penny  for  her  boys  !  Of  the  trouble 
before  her,  in  removing-  them  from  Sandbourne  to  some  inferior, 
because  cheaper,  school,  she  would  not  think.  Sufficient  to  the  day 
Avas  the  evil  thereof. 

She  therefore  applied  herself  dilig-ently  to  her  duties.  These  were 
varied,  thoug-h  somewhat  mechanical. 

Mrs.  Needham's  particular  den  was  a  very  comfortable,  well- 
furnished  room  at  the  back  of  the  house,  crowded  with  books  and 
newspapers,  and  prospectuses,  mag-azines,  and  all  possible  impedi- 
menta of  journalism,  on  the  outer  edg-e  of  which  women  were  be- 
f  inning-  with  faltering-  footsteps  tentatively  to  tread.  Mrs.  Need- 
am  not  only  wrote  "provincial  letters"  (with  a  difference!),  but 
contributed  social  and  statistical  papers  to  several  of  the  leading- 
periodicals  ;  and  one  of  Katherine's  duties  was  to  write  out  her 
roug-h  notes,  and  make  extracts  fi'om  the  books.  Blue  and  others, 
the  reports  and  pajx^rs  which  Mrs.  Needham  had  marked.  Then 
there  were  lots  of  letters  to  be  answered  and  MSS.  to  be  corrected. 

Besides  these,  Mrs.  Needham  asked  Katherine  as  a  favor  to  help 
her  in  her  house-keeping-,  as  it  was  a  thing-  she  hated  ;  "  and  what- 
ever you  do,"  was  her  concluding-  instructions,  "do  not  see  too 
much  of  cook's  doing-s.  She  is  a  clever  woman,  and  after  all  that 
can  be  said  about  the  feast  of  reason,  the  success  of  my  little  dinners 
depends  on  Iwr.  1  don't  think  she  takes  thing-s,  but  ghe  is  a  little 
reckless,  and  I  never  could  keep  accounts." 

Katherine  therefore  found  her  time  fully  filled.  This,  however, 
kept  her  from  thinking  too  much,  and  her  kind  chief  was  pleased 
with  all  she  did.  Her  mind  was  tolerable  at  rest  about  the  boys,  her 
friends  stuck  gallantly  to  her  throug-h  the  shipwreck  of  her  fortune, 
and  yet  her  heart  was  heavy.  She  could  not  look  forward  with 
hope,  or  back  without  pain.  She  dared  not  even  let  herself  think 
freely,  for  she  well  knew  the  cause  of  her  depression,  and  had  vowed 
to  herself  to  master  it,  to  hide  it  awaj%  and  never  allow  her  mental 
vision  to  dwell  upon  it.  Work,  and  interest— enforced,  almost 
feverish  interest— in  outside  matters,  were  the  only  weapons  with 
which  she  could  fig-ht  the  gnawing,  aching  pain  of  ceaseless  regret 
that  wore  her  hcnrt.  How  insignificant  is  tlie  loss  of  fortune,  and 
all  that  fortune  brings,  compared  to  the  opening  of  an  impassable 
gulf  between  one's  self  and  what  has  grown  dearer  than  self,  by 
that  magic,  inexplicable  force  of  attraction  which  can  rarely  be 
resisted  or  explained  ! 

Life  with  Mrs.  Needham  was  very  active,  and  although  Katherine 
was  necessarily  left  a  good  deal  at  home,  she  saw  quite  enough  oi 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  257 

society  in  tlie  evening  to  satisfy  her.  The  all-accomplished  Angela 
Bradley  showed  a  decided  inclination  to  fraternize  with  Mrs.  Need- 
ham's  attractive  secretary,  but  for  some  occult  reason  Katherine  did 
not  respond.  She  fancied  that  Miss  Bradley  was  disposed  to  look 
down  with  too  palpably  condescending-  indulgence  from  the  l^ights 
of  her  own  calm  perfections  on  those  storms  in  a  teacup  amid  which 
Mrs.  Needham  agitated,  with  such  sincere  belief  in  her  own  powers 
to  ra'se  or  to  allay  them.  Yet  Miss  Bradley  was  a  really  high- 
minded  woman,  only  a  little  too  well  aAvare  of  her  own  superiority. 
She  was  always  a  favored  guest  at  the  "Shrubberies,"  as  Mrs. 
Needham's  house  was  called,  and  of  course  an  attraction  to  Erring- 
ton,  who  was  also  a  frequent  visitor.  The  evenings,  when  some  of 
the  habitues  dropjxjd  in  on  their  way  to  parties,  or  returning  from 
the  theatre  (Mrs.  Needham  never  wanted  to  go  to  bed  !),  were  bright 
and  amusing.  Moreover,  Katherine  had  complete  liberty  of  move- 
ment. If  Mrs.  Needham  were  going  out  without  her  secretary, 
Katherine  was  quite  free  to  spend  the  time  with  Miss  Payne,  or 
with  Rachel  Trant,  whom  she  found  more  interesting.  At  the  house 
of  the  former  she  generally  found  Bertie  ready  to  escort  her  home, 
always  kindly  and  deeply  concerned  about  her,  but  more  than  ever 
determined  to  convert  her  from  her  uncertain  faith  and  worldly 
tendencies,  to  Evangelicalism  and  contempt  for  the  joys  of  this  life. 

Already  the  days  of  her  heirship  seemed  to  have  been  wafted  away 
far  back,  and  the  routine  of  the  present  was  becoming-  familiar. 
There  was  notiiing  oppressive  in  it.  Yet  she  could  not  look  for- 
ward. Hope  had  long  been  a  stranger  to  her.  Never,  since  her 
mother's  death,  since  she  had  fully  realized  the  bearings  of  her  own 
reprehensible  act,  had  she  known  the  joy  of  a  light  heart  Some 
such  ideas  were  tiitting*  through  her  mind  as  she  was  diligently 
copying  Mrs.  Needham's  lucubrations  one  afternoon,  when  the 
parlor  maid  opened  the  door  and  said,  as  she  handed  her  a  card, 
"  The  lady  is  in  the  drawing-room,  ma'am." 

The  lady  was  Mi'S.  Ormonde. 

"Is  Mrs.  Needham  at  home?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

It  was  rather  a  trial,  this,  meeting  with  Ada,  but  Katherine  Could 
not  shirk  it.  She  did  not  want  to  have  any  quarrel  with  the  boys' 
mother,  so  she  ascended  to  the  drawing-room. 

There  stood  the  pretty,  smartly  dressed  little  woman,  all  airy 
elegance,  biit  the  usually  smiling  lips  were  compressed,  and  the 
smooth  white  bi'ow  was  wrinkls  d  with  a  frown.  She  Avas  examin- 
ing a  book  of  photographs— most  of  them  signed  by  the  donors. 

"Oh,  Katherine!  how  do  you  do?"  she  said,  sharply,  and  not  in 
th;i  least  abaslujd  by  any  memory  of  their  last  meeting.  "I  am  up 
iii  town  for  a  few  days,  and  I  couldn't  leave  without  seeing  you. 
You  .see  I  have  too  much  feeling  to  turn  m//  back  on  an  old  jri'nd, 
however  injured  I  may  be  by  circumstances  over  which  you  had  no 
control.  You  are  not  looking  Wi-]!,  Katie;  you  are  so  white,  and 
your  eyes  don't  seon  to  be  half  open." 

"I  am  (>uite  well,  I  assure  voti,"  said  Katherine,  co.-fifosodly, 
and  a\'oiding  a  half -offered  kiss  by  drawing  a  chair  forward  for  hei 
visitor. 


258  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"I  wish  I  could  say  as  much,"  returned  Mrs.  Ormonde,  with  a 
deep  si"-h,  throwing'"  herself  into  it.  "I  am  perfectly  wretched; 
Ormonde  is  quite  intoleral.'lo  at  times  since  everything  has  col- 
lapsed. I  am  sui-e  I  often  wish  you  had  never  done  anything  for 
the  boys  or  me,  and  then  we  siibnld  never  have  fanciecl  ourselves 
rich.  Of  course  I  don't  blame  you  ;  you  meant  well,  but  it  is  all 
very  unfortunate." 

"It  is  indeed  ;  but  is  it  possible  that  Colonel  Ormonde  is  so  un- 
manly as  to—" 

"Unmanly?"  interrupted  his  wife.  "Manly,  you  mean.  Of 
course  he  revenges  him.self  on  me.  Not  always.  "  He  is  all  right 
sometimes  ;  but  if  anything  goes  wrong*,  then  I  suffer.  Fortunately 
I  was  prudent,  and  made  little  savings  with  which  I  am— but  " — 
interrupting  herself — "  that  is  not  worth  speaking  about." 

"I  am  sorry  you  are  unhappy,  Ada,"  said  Katherine,  with  her 
ready  sympathy. 

"  Oh," don't  tfiink  I  allow  myself  to  be  trodden  on,"  cried  Mrs. 
Ormonde,  her  eyes  suddenly  lighting  up.  "It  was  a  hard  fight  at 
first,  but  I  sawit  was  a  struggle  for  life  ;  and  when  we  knew  the 
worst,  and  Ormonde  raved  and  roared,  I  said  I  should  leave  him  and 
take  baby  (I  could,  you  know,  till  he  was  seven  years  old),  and  that 
the  servants  would  swear  I  was  in  fear  of  my  life  :  and  I  should 
have  done  it,  and  carried  my  case,  too  !  I'm  not  sure  it  would  not 
have  been  better  for  me.  But  he  gave  in,  and  asked  me  to  stay. 
I  felt  pretty  safe  then.  Noav,  Avhen  he  is  disagreeable,  I  burst  into 
tears  at  dinner,  and  upset  my  glass  of  claret  on  the  table-cloth,  and 
totter  out  of  the  room  weak  and  tremulous.  I  can  see  the  butler 
and  James  ready  to  tear  him  to  pieces.  When  he  is  good-humored, 
so  am  I  ;  and  when  he  tries  to  bully,  why,  what  with  trembling  so 
much  that  I  break  something  he  likes,  and  fits  of  hysterics,  and 
being  awfully  frig-htened  before  strangers,  and  making  things  go 
wrong  when  he  wishes  to  create  a  gTcat  effect  on  some  one,  I  think 
he  begins  to  see  it  is  better  not  to  quarrel  with  me.  Still,  it  is 
awfully  miserable,  compared  with  what  it  used  to  be  when  I  really 
thought  he  loved  me.  How  pleasant  we  all  were  together  at  Castle- 
ford  before  this  horrid  man  turned  up!  Why  didn't  that  awkward 
bush-ranger  take  better  aim?" 

"  I  dare  say  George  Liddell  is  not  quite  of  your  opinion,"  said 
Katherine,  smiling  at  her  sister-in-law's  candor. 

"He  was  quite  rich  before,  "continued  Mrs.  Ormonde,  querulously. 
"  Why  couldn't  he  be  satisfied  to  stay  out  there  and  spend  his  own 
money  ?    I  hate  selfishness  and  greed  !" 

"They  are  odious  in  every  one,"  said  Katherine,  gravely. 

"Now  that  I  feel  satisfied"  3-ou  are  well  and  happy,"  resumed  Mrs. 
Ormonde,  who  had  never  put  a  single  question  respecting  her.s(df  to 
Katherine,  "there  are  one  or  two  things  I  wanted  to  ask  you. 
Where  are  the  boys  ?" 

"They  are  stilfat  Sandbourne  ;  but  they  leave,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
at  Easter." 

"  Oh,  they  do  !  It  is  an  awfully  expensive  school.  Are  you  quite 
atire,  Katherine,  they  will  not  send  in  the  bill  to  me?" 

"Quite sure,  Ada," for  I  have  paid  in  advance." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  259 

"That  was  really  very  tlioug-htful,  dear.  Then— excuse  my 
asking- ;  I  would  not  interfere  with  you  for  the  world— but  what  are 
you  g'oing'  to  do  with  them  in  the  Easter  holidays?  I  (hire  not  have 
Ihem  at  Castleford.  I  should  lose  all  the  ground  I  have  gained  if 
such  a  thing  Avas  even  hinted  to  the  Colonel.'' 

"Why  apologize  for  inquiring  about  your  own  children  ?  Do  not 
be  alarmed,  they  shall  not  go.    I  am  just  now  arranging  for  them  tc 

fo  to  a  school  at  Wandsworth,  and  for  the  Easter  holidays  Mis.' 
ayne  has  most  kindly  invited  thc.m." 

"Really  !  How  very  nice  !  I  will  send  her  a  hamper  fron. 
Castleford.     I  can  manage  that  much.    This  is  rather  a  nice  little 

{)lace,"  continued  Mrs.  Ormonde,  evidently  much  relieved  and 
ooking  round.  "What  lots  of  pretty  things!  Is  Mrs.  Needham 
nice?  She  seemed  rather  a  flashy  woman.  You  must  feel  it  an 
awful  change  from  being  an  heiress,  and  so  much  made  of,  to  being 
a  sort  of  upjxjr  servant !    Do  you  dine  with  Mrs.  Needham?" 

"  Yes,  I  reallv  do,  and  go  out  to  evening  parties  with  her." 

"No,  really?'"' 

"  It  is  a  fact.  She  is  a  kind,  delightful  woman  to  live  with.  I  am 
most  fortunate." 

"Fortunate?  You  cannot  say  that,  Katie!  You  are  the  most 
unfortunate  girl  in  the  world.  You  know  how  penniless  women 
are  looked  upon  in  society.  I  remember  when  Ormonde  thought 
himself  such  a  weak  idiot  for  being  attracted  to  me,  all  because  I 
had  no  money.  It  makes  such  a  diiTeronce !  Why,  there  is  Lord 
De  Eurgh  ;  I  mt^t  him  yesterday,  and  asked  him  to  have  a  cup  of 
^oa  with  me,  andjhe  never  once  mentioned  your  name." 

"  Why  should  ne  ?  I  never  knew  LordDe  Burgh,"  said  Kath- 
arine. 

'  Yes,  you  did,  dear  !  Why,  you  cannot  know  what  is  going  on 
if  you  have  not  heard  that  old  De  Burgh  died  nearly  a  fortnight  ago 
m  Paris,  and  our  friend  has  come  in  for  eren/thm^.  He  had  just 
returned  from  the  funeral,  so  he  said,  and  is  looking  darker  and 

flummer  than  ever.  Well,  you  know  how  he  used  to  run  after  you. 
assure  you  he  never  made  a  single  inquiry  about  you.  Heartless, 
wasn't  it"?  I  said  something  about  that  horrid  man  coming  back, 
and— would  you  believe  it  ?— he  laughed  in  that  odious,  cynical  way 
he  has,  and  called  me  a  little  tigress.  The  only  sympathetic  word 
he  spoke  was  to  call  it  an  infernal  business.  He  doesn't  care  what 
he  says,  you  know.  Then  he  asked  if  Ormonde  was  tearing  his  hair 
about  it.  What  a  pity  you  did  not  encourage  him,  Katie,  and 
marry  him  !  Once  you  were  his  wife  he  could  not  have  thrown  ytiU 
off.  Kow  I  don't  suppose  you'll  ever  see  him  again.  I  rather  thiiuk 
Mrs.  Needham  does  not  know  many  of  his  set." 

"  She  knoAvs  an  extraordinary  number  af  people— all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  ;  Mr.  Errington  often  dines  here." 

"Does  he?  But  then  he  is  a  sort  of  literary  hack  now.  Just 
think  what  a  change  both  for  you  and  him  !" 

"  It  is  very  extraordinary  ;'but  he  keeps  his  position  better  than  1 
do." 

"Of  course.  Men  are  always  better  off.  Now,  dear,  I  must  go. 
I  am  quite  glad  to  have  seen  you^  and  sorry  to  think  that  my  hu* 


260  A  CBOOKED  PATH. 

band  is  absurdly  prejudiced  a^Ji^inst  you  from  the  way  you  spoke  to 
him  last  time.    It  •was  bv^  no  means  prudent" 

"  Well,  Ada,  should  Colonel  Ormonde  so  far  overcome  his  objec- 
tion to  me  as  to  seek  me  again,  I  think  it  very  likely  I  may  say 
more  imprudent  things  than  I  did  last  time.  Pray,  what  do  t  owe 
him  that  I  should  measure  my  words  ?" 

"  Really,  Katharine,  when  you  hold  your  head  up  in  that  way  I 
feel  half  afraid  of  you.  •  There  is  no  use  trying  to  hold  your  own 
with  the  world  when  your  jiocket  is  empty.  *Yousee  nobody  troubles 
about  you  now,  whereas — " 

"Miss  Bradley  !"  announced  the  servant :  and  Angela  entered,  in 
an  exquisite  walking  dress  of  dark  blue  velvet  ;  bonnet  and  feathers, 
gloves,  parasol,  all  to  match.  Mrs.  Ormonde  gazed  in  delighted  ad- 
miration at  this  splendid  api)arition. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Liddell  I"  she  exclaimed,  shaking  hands  cordially. 
"  I  have  rushed  over  to  tell  you  that  we  have  secured  a  box  for  Patti's 
benefit  on  Thursday,  and  I'want  you  to  join  us.  I  know  Mrs.  Need- 
ham  has  a  stall,  but  she  will  sup  with  us  after.  Mr.  Errington  and 
one  or  two  musical  critics  are  coming  to  dine  with  me  at  half  past 
six,  and  we  can  go  together." 

•'You  are  very  good,''  said  Katherine,  coloring.  She  did  not 
particularly  care  to  go  with  Miss  Bradkn%  and  she  Mas  amused  at 
Mrs.  Ormonde's  expression  of  astonishment.  "Of  course  I  siiall  be 
most  happy." 

"Now  1  must  not  stay  ;  I  have  heaps  to  do.  Will  you  be  so  kind 
as  to  give  me  the  address  of  the  modiste  you  mentioned  the  other 
day  who  made  that  pretty  gray  dress  of  yours?  Madame  Maradan 
is  so  full  she  cannot  do  a  couple  of  morning  dresses  for  me,  so  I  want 
to  try  your  woman." 

"I  shall  be  so  glad  if  you  will,"  cried  Katherine.    "I  will  bring 

Sm  one  of  her  cards.  Let  me  introduce  my  sister-in-law  to  you. 
rs.  Ormonde,  Miss  Bradley."  She  left  the  room,  and  Miss  Bradley 
drew  a  chair  beside  her.  "  I  think  I  had  the  plea.sure  of  seeing  you 
at  Lady  Carton's  garden  party  last  July  ?"  she  said,  coiirteou.sly! 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  j^es !  I  thoiight  I  knew  your  face.  Lady  Carton 
introduced  you  to  me.  Lady  Carton  is  a  cousin  of  Cofonel  Or- 
monde's." 

"Oh,  indeed  !    Miss  Liddell  was  not  there ?" 

"  No  ;  she  chose  to  bury  herself  by  the  sea -side  for  the  whole 
season." 

Here  Katherine  returned  with  the  card. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going  to  give  my  friend  Eachel  Trant  a 
crial.    I  am  sure  you  will  like  her.    She  has  excellent  taste." 

"Now  I  must  not  wait  any  longer.  So  good -by.  Shall  you  be  at 
Madame  Caravicelli's  this  evening?" 

"  I  am  not  sure.    I  don't  feel  much  disposed  to  go." 

"  Good-by  for  the  present,  then.  Good-mornmg,"  to  Mrs.  Or- 
monde, and  Miss  Bradley  swept  out  of  the  room. 

"  Well,  Katherine  !"  cried  Mrs.  Ormonde,  when  her  sister-in-law 
rttumed,  "you  seem  to  have  fnUcu  on  your  feet  here.  Pray  who  is 
that  fine,  elegant  girl  who  seems  so  fond  of  you?" 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  publi.sher,  and  has  be^n  very 
kind  to  me." 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  261 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  remember  now,  Lady  Carton  said  she  would  have  a 
large  fortune  ;  and  so  she  is  your  intimate  friend  ?" 

"Well,  a  very  kind  friend. 

"  Now  I  must  bid  you  g-ood-by.  I  am  sure  I  am  very  glad  you 
are  so  comfortable.  I  am  going  back  to  Castlefoid  to-morrow,  or  I 
should  call  again.  You  are  going  to  be  Lucky  Katherine,  after  all ; 
I  am  sure  you  are  :"  and  with  many  sw.'et  -«vor.ls  she  disappeared. 

"Lucky,"  repeated  Katherine,  assho  rjiurued  to  her  task,  "  mine 
has  been  strange  luck." 


Despite  Mrs.  Ormonde's  assurances  that  De  Burgh  had  quite  for- 
gotten her,  the  news  that  he  was  once  more  in  town  disturbed  Kath- 
erine. Unless  some  new  fancy  had  driven  her  out  of  his  head,  she 
felt  sure  that  his  first  step  in  the  new  and  indei:)endent  existence  ou 
which  he  had  entered  would  be  to  sec!--  her  out  and  renew  the 
offer  he  had  twice  made  before.  Money  or  no  money,  position, 
circumstances,  all  were  but  a  feather-weight  compared  to  ihe  impera- 
tive necessity  of  having'  his  own  way. 

It  would  be  very  painful  to  be  obliged  to  refuse  him  again,  for,  in 
spite  of  her  grave  disapprobation  of  him  in  many  ways,  she  liked 
him,  and  had  a  certain  degree  of  confidence  in  him.  There  were 
the  possibilities  of  a  good  character  even  in  his  faults,  and  it  grieved 
her  to  be  obliged  to  pain  him. 

"  After  all,  1  may  be  troubling  myself  about  a  vain  ima^e  ;  it  ia 
more  than  a  montli  since  I  saw  him.  He  is  now  a  wealthy  peer, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  say  how  circumstances  may  have  ciiang«i 
him." 

When  Mrs.  Needham  had  dressed  for  the  dinner  which  was  to  pre- 
cede Madam  Caravicelli's  reception,  Katherine  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  cloak  and  setoff  to  spend  a  couple  of  hours  with  Rachel  Trant, 
not  only  to  avoid  a  lonely  evening,  but  to  change  the  current  of  her 
thoughts— loneliness  and  thought  being  her  greatest  enemies  at 
present. 

She  had  gi*own  quite  accustomed  to  make  her  way  by  omnibus,  and 
as  the  days  grew  longer  and  the  weather  finer,  she  hoped  to  be  able 
to  walk  a'cross  Campden  Hill,  not  only  shortening  the  distance  but 
saving  the  fare.  A  visit  to  Rachel  ainused  Katherine  and  drew  her 
out  of  herself  more  than  anything  ;  the  details  of  the  business  and 
management  of  prop;'rty  ^vhich  she  felt  was  her  own  had  a  large 
amount  of  interest — real,  living  interest.  The  state  of  the  books,  the 
increase  of  custom,  the  addition  to  the  small  capital  which  Rachel 
was  gradually  accumulatii.g— all  those  were  subjects  not  easily  ex- 
hausted. Both  partn(!rs  agreed  that  their  great  object,  now  that  the 
undertaking  was  beginning  to  maintain  itself,  was  to  lay  by  all 
they  could,  for  of  course  bad  debts  and  bad  times  would  come. 

"It  is  a  gr3at  satis"action  to  think  that  though  people  may  do 
without  booKS  or  pictures  or  music,  they  must  wear  clothes  ;  and  if 
you  lit  well,  and  are  punctual,  you  a  e  certain  to  have  customers. 
Of  course  if  you  give  credit  you  must  charge  high  ;  people  are  be- 
ginning to  see  that  now     You  cannot  get  ready  money  in  the  drc«a- 


262  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

making  trade  except  for  those  costumes  you  give  for  a  certain  fixed 
price  ;  but  I  stand  out  for  quarterly  accounts." 

"  And  do  you  find  no  difficulty  in  getting  them  paid?" 

"Not  much  ;  you  sec,  I  deduct  five  per  cent,  tor  punctual  pay- 
ment. Every  one  tries,  to  save  that  five  per  cent.  But  talking  of 
these  things  has  put  a  curious  incident  out  of  my  head,  which  1  was 
longing  to  tell  you.  Y(jU  remember  among  my  tirst  customers  wei-e 
Mrs.  Fairchild  and  her  daughters.  They  keep  a  very  high  class 
ladies'  school  in  Inverness  Terrace,  and  have  been  exclleut  cus- 
tomers. Yesterday  Miss  Fairchild  called  and  said  that  slie  want(;d 
an  entire  outfit  for  a  little  girl  of  ten  or  eleven,  who  was  to  be  with 
them.  They  did  not  wish  for  anything  fine  or  showy  ;  at  the  same 
time,  cost  was  no  object.  I  was  to  furnish  everything,  to  save  time. 
This  morning  they  brought  the  child  to  be  fitted  ;  sne  is  very  tall 
and  thin,  but  lithe  and  supple,  wath  dark  hair,  and  lar^-e,  bright, 
dark-brown  eyes.  She  will  be  very  handsome.  1  could  not  quite 
make  her  out ;  she  is  not  an  ordinary  gentlewoman,  nor  is  she  the 
very  least  vulgar  or  common.  She  gives  me  more  the  idea  of  a 
wild  thing  not  quite  tamed.  When  all  was  settled  I  was  told  to 
address  the  account  to  Mr.  George  Liddell,  Grosvenor  Hotel." 

*'  Why,  it  must  be  my  cousin  George  !"  cried  Katherine.  "How 
strange  that  in  this  huge  town  they  should  fix  on  you  amongst  the 
thousands  of  dressmakers  !  You  must  make  my  little  cousin  look 
very  smart,  Rachel." 

"She  is  not  little.  She  is  wonderfully  mature  for  ten  years  old, 
something  like  a  panther." 

"  J  should  like  to  see  her.  I  believe  she  is  a  great  idol  with  her 
father.  I  wish," added  Katherine,  after  a  pause,  "he  were  not  so 
unreasonably  prejudiced  against  me.  You  may  think  me  weak, 
Rachel,  but  I  have  a  sort  of  yearning  for  family  ties." 

"  AVhy  should  I  think  you  weak  T  It  is  a  natural  a  ;d  I  suppose  a 
healthy  feeling.  1  don't  understand  it  mvself  because  I  never  had 
any.  Isolation  is  my  S3cond  nature.  Tlie  only  human  being  that 
ever  treated  me  wit£  tenderness  and  loyal  friendship  is  yourself,  and 
what  >ou  have  been  tome,  what  I  feel  toward  you,  none  can  know, 
for  I  can  never  tell. " 

"Dear  Rachel!  How  glad  I  am  to  have  been  of  use  to  you! 
And  you  amply  repay  me,  you  are  looking  so  much  better.  Tell 
me,  are  you  not  feeling  content  and  happy  ?" 

Rachel  smiled,  asmue  somewhat  grim"^in  spite  of  th  •  soft  lips  it 
parted.  "I  am  resigned,  and  I  have  found  an  object  to  live  for,  and 
you  know  what  an  improvement  that  is  compared  to  the  condition 
you  found  me  in.  But  I  don't  think  I  am  really  any  more  in  love 
with  life  now  than  I  was  then.  However,  I  am  more  mistress  of 
myself."  She  paused,  and  her  face  grew  verv  grave  as  she  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  her  arm  and  small  hand,  closely  shut,  resting  on 
the  table  beside  her. 

"  All  the  minute  details,  the  thought  and  anxiety,  my  business, 
or  rather  our  bujsiness,  requires  an  enormous  help—it  is  such  a  boon 
to  be  too  weary  at  night-time  to  think  !  But  ho  amount  of  work,  of 
care,  can  quite  shut  out  the  light  of  other  days.  It  is  no  doubt 
wrong,  immoral,  unworthy  of  a  reformed  outcast,  but  if  my  real 


k  CROOKED  PATa  263 

heart's  desire  could  be  fulfilled,  I  would  live  over  again  those  few 
months  of  exquisite  happiness,  and  die  before  waking-  to  the  terrible 
realit3'  of  my  insig-nificance  in  the  sig-ht  of  him  who  was  more  than 
life  to  me— die  while  I  was  still  something-  to  be  missed,  to  be  re- 
g-rettod.  He  would  have  tired  of  me  had  I  been  his  wife,  and  that 
would  have  been  as  terrible  as  my  present  lot— even  more,  for  I 
must  have  seen  his  weariness  day  by  day,  and  no  amount  of  social 
esteem  would  have  consoled  me.  As  it  is,  my  real  self  seems  to 
have  died,  and  this  creature" — striking'  her  breast- "was  a  cun- 
ningly contrived  machine,  that  can  work,  and  understand,  but,  save 
for  one  friend,  cannot  f  el.  I  do  not  even  look  back  to  him  with  any 
reg-retful  tenderness.  I  do  not  love  him— that  is  dead.  I  do  not 
hate  him— I  have  no  right.  He  did  not  deceive  me  ;  I  volun»:arily 
overstepped  the  line  which  sc3parates  the  r<  putable  and  disreputable  ; 
as  long  as  I  was  loved  and  cherished  I  never  felt  as  if  I  had  done 
wi'ong".  I  never  felt  humiliation  when  I  was  with  him.  When  he 
gi-ew  tired  of  me  he  could  not  help  it  :  he  never  did  try  to  resist  any 
whim  or  passion.  But  better,  stronger  men  cannot  hold  the  waver- 
ing will-o'-the-wisp  they  call  '  love ' ;  and  once  it  flickers  out,  it  can- 
not be  relig-hted.  No,  I  have  no  one  to  blame  ;  I  can  only  rysi  rn 
mys.'.lf  to  the  bitterest,  cruelest  fate  that  can  befall  a  woman— 1>)  l,i; 
loved  and  eagerly  sought,  won,  and  adored  for  a  brief  hour,  then 
thrown  cai-elessly  aside— a  mere  plaything,  unworthy  of  serious 
thought.  Ah,  I  have  forgotten  my  resolution  not  to  talk  of  myself 
to  you.  It  is  a  weakness  ;  but  your  kind  eyes  melt  my  heart.  Now 
I  will  close  it  up— I  will  think  only  of  the  task  I  have  set  mysef,  to 
make  a  little  fortune  for  you,  a  reputation  for  my  own  estab  ishmcnt 
— not  a  very  grand  ambition,  but  it  does  to  keep  the  machine  going  ; 
and  1  am  growing  stronger  every  day,  with  a  strang-e  force  that 
surprises  myself.  I  fear  nothing  and  no  one.  I  thii.k  my  affection 
for  you,  dear,  is  the  only  thing  which  keeps  mo  human.  Now  tell 
me,"  are  you  still  comfortable  with  Mrs.  Needham  r'" 

The  tears  stood  in  Katharine's  eyes  as  she  listened  to  this  stern 
wail  of  a  bruised  spirit,  but  with  instinctive  Avisdom  she  refrained 
from  uttering  fruitless  expressions  of  sympathy.  She  would  not 
encourage  Rachel  to  dwell  on  the  hateful  subject  ;  sho  only  replied 
by  pressing  her  friend's  hand  in  silence,  and  she  be^an  to  "speak  of 
Mr.s'.  Ormonde's  visit,  and  succeeded  in  makiiig  Eachel  laugh  at  the 
little  woman's  description  of  the  means  she  adopted  of  reducing  Col- 
onel Ormonde  to  reason. 

"  R-eal  generosity  and  unselfishness  is  very  rare,"  said  Rachel. 
"The  mea  ness  and  narrowness  of  men  are  amazing— and  of 
women  too  ;  but  somehow  one  expects  more  from  the  strength  of  a 
man.'' 

"  When  n.en  are  good  they  are  very  good,"  said  Kate,  reflectively. 
•'But  the  only  two  I  have  seen  much  of  are  not  pleasant  speciniP'jg 
— my  undo,  John  Lidnell,  and  Colonel  Ormonde.  Then  againift 
them  I  must  balance  Bertie  Payne,  who  is  good  enough  for  twu." 

"He  is  indeed!  I  owe  him  a  debt  I  can  never  repav,  for  ho 
brought  you  to  me.  I  wish  you  could  reward  him  as  he  would 
wish." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  he  has  any  wishes  on  the  subject,"  said  Kath- 


264  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

erine,  her  color  rising".  "  He  thinks  T  am  too  ungodly  to  be  elig-ible 
for  the  helpmeet  of  a  true  believer.  Ah,  indeed  lam  not  half  good 
enough  for  such  a  man  !" 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

DE  BURGH  AGAIN. 

THAT  Rachel  Trant  should  have  drifted  into  communication  with 
George  Liddell  seemed  a  most  -whimsical  turn  of  the  wheel  of  fortune 
to  Katherine,  and  she  thought  much  of  it. 

Would  it  lead  to  any  reconciliation  between  herself  and  her 
strange,  unreasonable,  half -savage  kinsman?  She  fancied  she 
could  interest  herself  in  his  daughter,  and  towards  himsalf  she  felt 
no  enmity  ;  rather  a  mild  description  of  curiosity.  Why  should 
they  not  be  on  friendly  terms  ? 

But  this  and  other  subjects  of  thought  were  swallowed  up  in  the 
anticipated  pain  of  removing  her  nephews  from  their  school  at  Sand- 
bourne,  where  they  had  bean  so  nappy  and  done  so  well.  Miss 
Payne's  friendly  offer  to  take  them  in  for  a  week  or  two  had  relieved 
Katherine  of  a  difficulty  ;  and  Mrs.  Needham  was  most  considerate 
ill  promising  to  give  her  ample  time  to  prepare  them  for  their  new 
school. 

What  a  diiierence,  poor  Katherine  thought,  between  the  present 
and  the  past !  quite  as  great  as  between  the  price  of  Sandbourne  and 
Wandsworth.  There  was  a  certain  rough  and  ready  tone  about  the 
latter  establishment  which  distressed  her ;  yet  the  school-master's 
wife  seemed  a  kindly,  motherly  woman,  and  the  urchins  she  saw 
running  about  the  play -ground  looked  rudd3"  and  happy  enou^-h. 
It  was  the  best  of  the  cheaper  schools  she  had  seen,  and  to  Dr. 
Paynter's  care  she  resolved  to  commit  them.  As  Wandsworth  was 
within  an  easy  distance,  she  could  often  go  to  see  them. 

Another  matter  kept  her  somewhat  on  the  qui  rive.  In  spite  of 
Mrs.  Ormonde's  assurance  that  De  Burgh  had  forgotten  her,  Kath- 
erine had  a  stron^-  idea  that  she  had  not  seen  the  last  of  him. 

Though  Mrs.  Keedham's  wide  circle  of  acquaintances  included 
many  men  and  women  of  rank,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  set  to  which 
De  I5urgh  belonged.  Those  of  his  class,  admitted  within  the  hospi- 
table gate  of  the  Shrubberies,  were  usually  persons  of  literary, 
artistic,  or  dramatic  leanings  and  connections,  of  which  he  was 
quite  innocent. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  Katherine's  last  interview  with  Rachel 
Trant,  and  Mrs.  Needham  was  "at  home  "in  a  more  formal  way 
than  usual.  Katherine  was  assisting  her  chief  in  receiving,  Avhen, 
in  the  tea-room,  she  was  accosted  by  Errington.  "Have  you  had 
tea  yourself  ?"  he  asked,  with  his  grave,  SAveet  smile. 

"Oh  yes  !  long  ago.'' 

"Then,  Miss  Liddell,  indulge  me  in  a  little  talk.  It  is  so  lon^ 
since  I  have  had  a  word  with  you  !  It  seems  that  since  we  agreed 
to  be  fast  friends,  founding  our  friendship  on  the  injuries  we  have 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  265 

done  each  other,  that  we  have  drifted  apart  more  than  ever.  Pray 
do  not  turn  away  with  that  distressed  look.  I  am  so  unfortunate 
in  being  always  associated  with  painful  ideas  in  your  mind." 

" Indeed  you  are  not.  All  the  good  of  my  jresent  life  I  owe  to 
vou,"  and  she  raised  her  soft  brown  eyes,  full  of  tender  gratitude,  to 
his.  It  was  a  glance  that  might  have  warmed  any  man's  heart, 
and  Errington's  answer  was  : 

"  Come,  then,  and  let  xis  exchange  confidences,"  the  crowd  round 
the  door  at  that  moment  obliging  him,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  to  hold 
her  arm  very  close  to  his  side. 

At  the  end  of  the  hall,  which  was  little  more  than  a  passage,  was 
a  door  sheltered  by  a  large  porch.  The  door  had  been  removed, 
and  the  porch  turned  into  a  charming  nook,  with  draperies,  plants, 
colored  lamps,  and  comfortable  seats.  Here  Errington  and  Kath- 
erine  established  themselves. 

"  First,"  he  began,  "tell  me,  how  do  you  fare  at  Mrs.  Needham's 
hands  ?  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  seem  quite  at  home  ;  and  if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  say  it,  you  bear  up  bravely  under  the  buffets  of 
unkindly  fortune." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  complain,"  returned  Katherine.  "As  to  Mrs. 
Needham,  were  I  her  younger  sister  she  could  not  be  kinder.  I 
think  the  great  advantap-e  of  the  semi-Bohemian  set  to  which  she 
belongs,  is  that  among  them  there  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  neither 
bond  nor  free,  for  all  are  one  in  our  common  human  nature.  Were 
I  to  go  down  into  the  kitchen  and  cook  the  dinner,  it  would  not  put 
me  at  any  disadvantage  with  my  good  friend.  I  should  have  only 
to  wash  my  hands  and  don  mv  best  frock,  and  in  the  drawing-room 
I  should  be  as  much  the  daughter  of  the  house  as  ever." 

Errington  laughed.  There  was  a  hippy  sound  in  his  laugh. 
"  You  describe  our  kind  hostess  well.  Such  women  are  the  salt  of 
the  social  earth.  And  your  '  dear  boys.'  How  and  where  are 
they  ?" 

"  Ah  !  that  is  a  trial.  I  go  down  to  Sandbourne  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, to  take  them  from  that  delightful  school,  and  place  them  in 
a  far  different  establishment." 

"Ha  !    Does  Mrs.  Ormonde  go  with  you?" 

" Mrs.  Ormonde ?    Oh  no.    You  know— "  she  hesitated.    "Well, 

fou  see.  Colonel  Ormonde  is  exceedingly  indignant  with  me  because 
have  lost  my  fortune,  and  I  fancy  he  docs  not  approve  of  Ada's 
having  anything  to  do  with  me.  Besides—"  She  paused,  not  liking 
to  betray  too  much  of  the  family  pohtics.  "They  have  agreed  ta 
give  the  boys  over  to  me." 

"I  know.  I  paid  Mr.  Newton  a  long  visit  the  other  day,  and  he 
told  me— perhaps  more  than  you  would  like." 

" I  do  not  mind  how  much  you  know,"  said  Katherine,  sadly.  " I 
am  glad  vou  care  enough  to  inquire." 

"I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  care  very,  very  much,"  replied 
Errington,  in  a  low,  earnest  tone.  "  You  and  I  have  crossed  each 
other's  paths  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  and  if  you  will  allow  me, 
I  should  like  to  act  a  brother's  part  to  you  if—"  He  broke  off 
abruptly,  and  Katherine,  looking  up  to  him  with  a  bright  smile, 
exclaimed,  "I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  such  a  brother,  and  will 
not  give  you  more  trouble  than  T  can  help." 


266  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Thank  you."  He  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment,  and  then,  with 
a  change  of  tone,  observed:  "You  and  Miss  Bradley  seem  to  have 
become  intimate.  You  must  find  her  an  agreeable  companion.  I 
think  slie  might  be  a  useful  friend." 

"  She  is  extremely  kind.  I  cannot  say  how  much  obliged  to  her 
I  am  ;  but,"  continued  Katherine,  impelled  by  an  unaccountable 
antag'onism,  "do  you  know,  I  cannot  understand  why  she  likes  me. 
There  is  no  real  sympathy  between  us.  She  is  so  wise  and  learned. 
Sha  never  would  do  wrong  things  from  a  sudden  irresistible  impulse, 
and  then  devour  her  heart  with,  not  repentance,  exactly,  but  re- 
morse Avhich  cannot  be  appeased." 

"  Probably  not.  She  is  rather  a  remarkable  woman.  Strong, 
yet  not  hard.    I  fancy  we  are  the  arbiters  of  our  own  fate." 

"Oh  no!  no!"  cried  Katherine,  with  emotion.  "Just  think  of 
the  snares  and  pitfalls  which  beset  us,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  keep  the 
narrow  road  when  a  heart-beat  too  much,  a  sudden  rush  of  sorrow 
or  of  joy,  and  our  balance  is  lost :  even  steady  footsteps  slide  from 
the  rigiit  way.    Believe  me,  some  never  have  a  fair  chance. " 

Errington  made  a  slight  movement  nearer  to  her,  and  after  a 
brief  pause  said,  "I  should  like  to  hear  you  argue  this  with  Angela 
Bradley." 

It  sounded  strange  and  unpleasant  to  hear  him  say  "  Angela." 

"  I  never  argue  Avith  her,  said  Katherine.  "  Mine  are  but  old- 
fashioned  weapons,  while  hers  are  of  the  latest  fashion  and  precision. 
Moreover,  we  stand  on  different  levels,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  wonder 
she  troubles  herself  about  me.  Is  it  pure  benevolence  ?  or  " — with  a 
quick  glance  into  his  eyes,  which  were  unusually  animated — "did 

J'ou  ask  her  of  her  clemency  to  throw  me  some  crumbs  of  comfort? 
f  so,  she  has  obeyed  you  gracefully  and  well." 

"  Unreason  has  a  potent  advocate  in  j'ou.  Miss  Liddell,"  said  Er- 
rington; smiling  a  softer  smile  than  usual.  "But  I  want  you  to 
understand  and  appreciate  Miss  Bradley.  She  is  a  fine  creatui-e  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  As  friend,  I  am  sure  she  would  be  loyal 
with  a  reasonable  loyalty,  and  I  flatter  myself  she  is  a  friend"^  of 
mine." 

"  Another  sister?"  asked  Katherine,  forcing  herself  to  smile  play- 
fully. 

/     "Yes,"  returned  Errington,  slowly,  looking  down  as  he  spoke  ; 
"  a  different  kind  of  sister." 

Katherine  felt  her  cheeks,  her  throat,  her  ears,  glow,  as  she 
listened  to  what  she  considered  a  distinct  avowal  of  his  en^-agement 
to  the  accomplished  Angela,  but  she  only  said,  softly  and  steadily, 
"I  hope  she  will  always  be  a  deSr  and  loyal  sister  to  you." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then"  Errington  said,  abruptly, 
his  eyes,  as  she  felt,  on  her  face,  "  Have  you  seen  De  Burgh  since 
his  return?" 

"  No." 

"  No  doubt  you  will.  What  a  curious  fellow  he  is  !  I  wonder  how- 
he  will  act,  now  that  he  has  rank  and  fortune?  He  has  some  good 
points." 

"Ohj^es,  many,"  cried  Katherine,  warmly,  "I  could  not  help 
liking  film.    He  is  very  true." 


A  CROOKED  PATH  267 

"And  extremely  reckless,"  put  in  Erring-ton,  coldly,  as  Katherine 
paused  to  remember  some  other  g-ood  point. 

"Certainly  not  calculating',"  she  returned. 

"Probably  his  new  responsibilities  may  steady  him." 

"They  may.    I  almost  wish  I  dare •"" 

"  My  dear  Katherine,  I  have  been  looking-  everywhere  for  you.  I 
want  you  so  much  to  play  Mrs.  Grandison's  accompaniment.    She  is 

foing-  to  sing-  one  of  your  songs,  and  no  one  plays  it  as  well  as  vou 
0.  So  sorry  to  interrupt  your  nice  talk  ;  but  what  can  a  wretclied 
hostess  do?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  quite  ready,  Mrs.  Needham,"  said  Katherine ;  and  she 
rose  obediently. 

"  Will  you  come,  Mr.  Erring-ton  ?"  asked  the  lady  of  the  house. 

"To  hear  Mrs.  Grandison  murder  one  of  Miss  Liddell's  songs, 
which  I  dare  say  I  have  heard  at  Castleford  ?  No,  thank  you.  I 
shall  bid  you  g-ood-nig-ht.  I  am  going-  on  to  Lady  Barbara  Bons- 
field's,  where  I  shall  not  stay  long-." 

"Horrid  woman  !  she  robbed  me  of  Ang-ela  Bradley  to-night !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Needham. 

With  a  quick  "  Good-night,"  Katherine  went  to  fulfil  her  duties 
in  the  drawing-rooui,  and  did  not  see  Errington  again  for  several 
days. 

"  I  was  vexed  with  you  for  not  singing  last  night,"  said  Mrs. 
Needham,  as  she  sat  at  luncheon  with  her  young  friend  the 
next  morning.  ♦'  You  may  not  have  a  great  voice,  but  you  are 
much  more  thoroughly  trained  than  half  the  amateurs  whose  squal- 
lings  and  screechings  are  applauded  to  the  echo." 

"  I  do  not  know  why,  but  I  really  did  not  feel  that  I  could  sing, 
Mrs..  Needham.  I  do  not  often  feel  miserable  and  choky,  but  I  did 
last  night.  I  am  so  anxious  and  uneasy  about  the  boys  and  the 
school  they  are  going  to,  that  I  was  afraid  of  making  a  fool  of  my- 
self. When  the  change  is  accomplished  I  shall  be  all  right  again, 
and  not  bore  you  with  my  sentimentality." 

"You  don't  do  anything  of  the  sort.  You  are  a  capital  plucky 
girl.  Now  I  have  nothing  particular  for  you  to  do  this  afternoon, 
1  and  I  can't  take  you  with  me  ;  so  just  go  out  and  call  on  Miss 
'  Bradley  or  Miss  Payne  to  divert  vour " 

"  A  gentleman  for  Miss  Liddell,"  said  the  parlor  maid,  placing  » 
card  beside  Katherine. 

"Lord  de  Burgh  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  great  surprise. 

"Lord  who?"  asked  Mrs.  Needham. 

"Lord  de  Burgh  ;  he  is  a  relation  of  Colonel  Ormonde;  I  used  to 
meet  him  at  Castleford." 

Mrs.  Needham  eyed  her  curiously.  "Oh,  very  well,  dear,"  she 
said,  with  great  cheerfulness.  "Go  and  see  him,  and  give  him  some 
tea  ;  only  it  is  too  early.  1  am  sorry  I  cannot  put  in  an  appearance, 
but  I  have  just  a  hundred  and  one  things  to  do  before  I  go  to  Profes- 
sor Maule's  scientific  '  afternoon  '  at  four.  Give  me  my  bag  and 
note-book.  I  must  go  straight  away  to  the  *  Incubator  Company's 
Office  ;'  I  promised  them  a  notice  in  my  Salterton  letter  next  week. 
There,  go,  child;  I  don't  want  joxi  any  more." 


268  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"But  I  am  in  no  hurry,  Mrs.  Needham.  Lord  d«  Burgh  is  no 
very  particular  friend  of  mine." 

"Wi^ll,  well !  That  remains  to  be  se-n.  Ju.st  s'  \  )r,th  your  hair, 
Won't  you?  It's  all  rough  where  you  have  leane<!  *  i.  .n  our  hand  over 
your  writing.  It's  no  matter  ?  Well,  it  doesn't  much.  Do  you 
think  he  has  any  votes  for  the  British  Benevolent  Institution  for 
Aged  Women  ? '  I  do  so  want  to  get  my  gardener's  mother—  There, 
go,  go,  dear  !  You  had  better  not  keep  him  waiting."  And  Kather- 
ine  wasg*ently  proixiUed  out  of  the  room. 

In  truth,  she  was  rather  reluctant  to  face  De  Burgh,  although  she 
felt  gratified  and  soothed  by  his  taking  the  trouble  to  lind  her  out. 

Katherine  found  her  visitor  pacing  up  and  down  Avhcn  she  open»l 
the  drawing-room  door,  feeling  vexed  with  hersulf  for  her  changing 
color  and  the  embarrassment  she  felt  she  dispiavcd.  De  Burgh  was 
looking  taller  ai:d  squarer  than  ever,  but  his  dark  face  brightened 
80  visibly  as  his  eyes  m(;t  Katherine's,  that  she  felt  a  pang  as  she 
thought  how  unmoved  she  was  herself. 

"  I  thought  you  had  escaped  from  sight !"  he  exclaimed,  holding 
her  hand  for  a' moment  longer  than  wasal^solutely  necessary.  "The 
tirst  time  I  went  to  look  for  vou  in  the  old  place",  I  was  simply  told 
you  had  left,  by  a  stupid  old  woman  who  knew  nothing.  Then  I 
called  again  and  asked  for  Miss— you  know  whom  I  mean;  she  is 
?;ather  a  brick,  and  told  me  all  about  you.  In  the  mean  time  I  met 
Mrs.  Ormonde.  I  was  determined  not  to  ask  ha  anything— she  is  such 
a  selfish  little  devil.  Now  here  I  am  face  to  face  wi'.h  you  at  last." 
And  he  di'ew  a  chair  opposi  e  her,and  was  silent  for  a  minute,  gazing 
with  a  wistful  look  in  her  face.  ___^ ,— — ^ 

"You  have  not  a  very  high  opinion  of  my  sister-in-law,"  said 
Katherine,  beginning  as  far  away  from  themselves  as  she  could. 

"She  is  an  average  woman,"  he  said,  shortly.  "But  tell  me, 
what  is  the  matt(;r  with  you?  I  did  not  think  you  were  the  sort  of 
girl  to  break  your  heart  over  the  loss  of  a  fortune." 

''But  I  have  not  broken  my  heart !"  she  exclaimed,  somewhat 
startled  by  his  positive  tone. 

"There's  a  look  of  pain  in  your  eyes,  a  despondency  in  your  very 
figure;  don't  you  think  I  know  every  turn  of  you?  Well,  I  won't 
say  more  if  it' annoys  you.  We  have  changed  places,  Katherine— I 
mean  Miss  Liddell.  Fortune  has  g'iven  me  a  turn  at  last,  and  I  have 
been  tremendously  bus\'.  I  had  no  idea  how  troublesome  it  is  to  be 
rich.  There  are  compensations,  however.  This  doesn't  seem  a  bad 
sort  of  place  "—  looking  round  at  the  crowd  of  china  and  bric-a-brac 
oi'namcnts  and  the  comfortable  chairs.  "How  did  30U come  hei*e, 
and  what  has  been  settled?  Don't  think  me  impertinent  or  intrusive; 
you  know  3'ou  agreed  we  should  be  friends,  and  you  must  not  send 
me  adrift !" 

"Thank  you,  Lord  de  Burgh.  I  am  sure  you  could  be  a  very 
loyal  friend.  My  story  is  very  short."  And  she  gave  him  a  brief 
slietch  of  how  her  afliaiVs  had  been  arranged. 

"By  George!  Ormonde  is  a  mean  sneak.  To  think  of  his  leaving 
those  "boys  on  your  hands  !  and  ho  iias  plenty  of  money.  I  happen 
to  know  that  his  wife  has  been  dabbling  in  the  stocks,  and  turned 
some  money  too.    Now  where  did  she  get  the  cash  to  do  it  with  but 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  269 

from  him  ?    So  I  suppose  you  intend  to  starve  yourself  in  order  to 
educate  the  poor  little  chaps?" 

"  Oh  no.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  living'  on  the  fat  of  the  land, 
with  the  kindest  mistress  in'the  world," 

*'  Mistress !  Great  heavens !  Why  will  you  persist  in  such  a 
Ufe?" 

"My  dear  Lord  de  Burgh,  don't  you  know  that  it  is  not  always 
easy  to  judg-e  or  to  act  for  another  ?" 

"  Which  means  I  am  to  mind  my  own  business  ?" 

"You  have  a  very  unvarnished  sty  le  of  stating  facts." 

"  I  know  I  have."  A  short  pause,  and  he  began  again.  "  Where 
are  those  boys  now  ? 

"At  Sandbourne.  But,  alas !  I  am  going  to  take  them  away  to- 
mori'ow.    They  are  going  to  a  school  at  Wandsworth." 

'  'Going  down  to  Sandbourne  to  morrow  ?  Is  Miss  Payne  going 
with  you?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  don't  need  any  one." 

"  Nonsense  !  you  can't  go  about  alone.  I'll  meet  you  at  the  station 
and  escort  you  there." 

Katherine  laughed.  "  I  am  afraid  that  would  never  do.  You 
have  increased  in  importance  and  I  havedimiiiishad,  till  the  distance 
between  our  respective  stations  has  widened  far  too  much  to  jxjrmit 
of  familiar  intercourse,  or—" 

"  I  never  thought  I  should  hear  i/oh  talking  such  rubbish.  What 
difl'erence  can  there  be  between  us,  except  that  von  are  a  good  woman 
and  I  am  ii<t  a  good  man?  1  don't  think  its  ^uite  fair  that  on  our 
first  maeting  after  ages— at  least  quite  two  months  of  separation 
— you  should  talk  in  this  satirical  way." 

"  I  speak  the  words  of  truth  and  soberness,  Lord  de  Bui-gh." 

"Perhaps.  I  can't  quite  make  you  out.  lam  certain  you  have 
been  in  worse  trouble  than  even  want  of  money.  I  wish  you'd  con- 
fide in  me.  That's  the  right  word,  isn't  it?  Do  you  know,  I  can  be 
very  true  to  my  friends,  and  silent  as  the  grave.  I  could  tell  i/oii 
evervthing." 

"Thank  you.    I  am  sure  you  could  be  a  faithful  friend." 

"Do  you  ever  see  Errington ?"  asked  De  Burgh,  changing  the 
subject  abruptly. 

"Oh  ves.    He  often  comes  here." 

"Indeed?  To  see  you,  or  Mrs.— what's  her  name?" 

"To  see  Mrs.  Needham,"  returned  Katherine.  smiling. 

"Hum  !  1  suppose  he  has  a  taste  for  mature  beauty?'^ 

"  I  do  not  know.  At  all  events  Mrs.  Needham  knows  charming 
girls— enough  to  suit  all  tastes,  and  Mr.  Errington—  " 

"Is  too  superior  a  fellow  to  be  influenced  by  such  attractions, 
eh?"  put  in  De  Burgh. 

"I  am  not  so  .sure;"  and  she  laughed  merrily.  "I  think  there  is 
one  fair  lady  for  whom  he  is  inclined  to  forego  his  philosophic 
tranquility." 

"  Ha  !  I  thought  so.    Yourself?" 

"i¥e.'  No,  indeed!  A  young  lady  of  high  attainments  and  a 
large  fortune." 

"Indeed?  lam  glad  of  it.  He  mtist  be  a^vfnlly  hard  up,  poor 
devil  1" 


270  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Mr.  Errington  can  never  be  poor,"  cried  Katherine,  offended 
by  the  disparaging'  epithet.     "  He  carries  his  fortune  in  his  brain." 

"  Well,  I  am  exceedingly  thankful  I  carry  mine  in  nij^  poclcet," 
returned  De  Burgh,  laughing.  "Evidently  Errington  can  do  no 
wrong  in  your  eyes.  Let  us  wish  him  success  in  his  wooing.  So  I 
am  not  to  be  your  escort  to  Sandbourne?  You  ought  to  le't  me  be 
your  courier,  I  have  knocked  about  so  much.  I  thought  Id  take  to 
the  road  in  the  modern  sense,  when  I  came  to  my  last  sou,  if  the 
poor  old  lord  had  not  died.  Now  I  am  going  to  be  a  pattern  man  as 
landlord,  peer,  and  sportsman.    Can't  give  up  that,  you  know." 

"I  do  not  see  why  you  should." 

*'  I  see  you  are  looking  at  the  clock  ;  that  means  I  am  staying  too 
long.  You  don't  know  how  delightful  it  is  to  sit  here  talking  to 
you,  without  any  third  person  to  bore  us." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude,  Lord  de  Burgh,  but  you  see  I  have 
letters  to  write  for  my  chief." 

"The  deuce  you  have  !    It  is  too  awful  to  see  you  in  slavery." 

"Very  pleasant,  easy  slavery." 

"  So  this  chief  of  yours  gives  parties,  receptions,  at  homes.  Why 
doesn't  she  ask  me?" 

"I  am  sure  she  would  if  she  knew  of  your  existence." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  never  mentioned  me  to  her,  nor 
enlarged  upon  my  many  delightful  and  noble  qualities?" 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  have  not." 

Lord  de  Burgh  rose  slowly  and  reluctantly.  "  Are  you  going  to 
bring  the  boys  here  ?" 

"  No  ;  Miss  Payne  has  most  kindly  invited  them  to  stay  with  her. 
As  yet  she  has  not  found  any  one  to  replace  me.  Poor  little  souls, 
I  sliall  be  glad  when  their  holidays  are  over,  for  I  fear  they  are  not 
the  same  joy  to  Miss  Payne  as  tliey  are  to  me." 

"  Aii  !  D6iiev6  me,  you  want  some  help  in  bringing  up  a  couple  of 
boys.  Just  fancy  what  Cis  will  be  six  or  seven  years  hence.  Why, 
he'll  play  the  devil  if  he  hasn't  a  strong  hand  over  him." 

"I  don't  believe  it !" cried  Katherine,  smiling.  "Why  should  ho 
be  worse  than  "*^h(}r  boys  ?" 

"  Why  should  he  be  better?" 

"Weil,  I  can  but  do  my  best  for  them,"  said  Katherine  with  a 
sigh. 

"  I  am  a  brute  to  prophesy  evil,  when  you  have  enough  to  con- 
tend with  already,"  cried  De  Burgh,  taking  her  hand,  and  looking 
into  her  eyes  with  an  expression  she  could  not  misunderstand. 

"You  must  not  exag-gerate  my  troubles,"  returned  Katherine, 
with  a  sweet  bright  smile  on  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes  that  thankai 
him  for  his  sympathy,  even  while  slie  gently  withdrew  her  hand. 

"I  wish  you  would  let  me  help  you."  said  De  Burgh  ;  and  as  her 
lips  parted  to  reply,  he  went  on,  hastily  :  "No,  no  ;  don't  answer — 
not  yet,  at  least.  You  will  only  say  something  disagreeable,  in 
spite'  of  your  charming  lips.  Kow  I'll  not  intrude  on  you  any 
longer.  1  suppose  there  is  no  objection  to  my  calling  on  tlie  young 
gentlemen  at  Miss  Payne's,  and  taking  them  to  a  circus,  or  Madame 
Tussaud's,  or  any  other  dissipation  suit 'd  to  their  tender  years?" 

"  My  dear  Lord  de  Burgh,  what  an  infliction  for  you  !  and  how 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  271 

very  g-ood  of  you  to  think  of  them !  Pray  do  not  trouble  about 
them/' 

"I  understand,"  said  De  Burgh.  "I'll  leave  my  card  for  your 
chief  below  ;  and  be  sure  you  don't  forg-et  me  when  you  are  sending 
out  cards.  By-the-way,  I  have  a  pressing  invitation  to  Castleford. 
When  I  write  to  refuse  I'll  say  I  have  seen  you,  and  that  I  am  going' 
to  take  charge  of  the  boys  during  the  holidays." 

"  No,  no  ;  pray  do  not,  Lord  de  Burgh,"  cried  Katherine,  eagerly. 
"You  know  Ada,  and—" 

"Are  you  ashamed  to  have  me  as  a  coadjutor?"  interrupted  De 
Burgh,  laughing.  "  Trust  me  ;  I  will  be  prudent.  Good-by  for  the 
present." 

Katherine  stood  in  silent  thought  for  a  few  moments  after  he  had 

fone.  She  fully  understood  the  meanina;-  of  his  visit;  though  there 
ad  been  little  or  nothin"-  of  the  lover  in  his  tone.  He  had  come  as 
soon  as  possible  to  place  himself  and  all  he  had  at  her  disposal.  He 
was  perfectly  sincere  in  his  desire  to  win  her  for  his  wife,  and  she 
almost  regretted  she  could  not  return  his  affection  :  it  might  be  true 
affection— something  beyond  and  above  the  dominant  whim  of  an 
imperious  nature.  And  what  a  solution  to  all  her  difficulties  !  But 
it  was  impossible  she  could  overcome  the  repulsion  which  the  idea 
of  marriage  with  any  man  she  did  not  love  inspired.  There  was  to 
her  but  one  in  the  world  to  whom  she  could  hold  allegiance,  and  he 
was  forbidden  by  all  sense  of  self-respect  and  modesty.  How  was 
it  that,  strive  as  she  might  to  fill  her  mind  to  his  exclusion,  the 
moment  she  was  off  guard  the  image  of  Errington  rose  up  clear 
and  fresh,  pervading  heart  and  imagination,  and  dwarting  every 
other  object  ? 

"How  miserably,  contemptibly  weak  I  am,  and  have  always 
been !  Why  did  I  not  stifle  this  wretched,  overpowering  attraction 
in  the  beginning?"    Ay !  but  when  did  it  begin? 

This  is  a  sort  of  question  no  heart  can  answer.  Who  can  foresee 
that  the  tinv  spring,  forcing  its  way  up  among  the  'stones  and 
heather  of  a  lonely  hill-side,  will  grow  into  the  broad  river,  which 
may  carry  peace  and  prosperity  on  its  rolling  tide  to  the  lands  be- 
low, or  overwhelm  them  with  destructive  floods,  according  to  the 
forces  which  feed  it  and  the  barriers  which  hedge  it  in? 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"CIS    AND    CHARLIE." 

Again  the  spring  sunshine  was  lending  perennial  youth  even  to 
Iiondon's  dingy  streets,  and  making  the  very  best  winter  garments 
look  dim  and  shabby.  Hunting  was  over,  and  Colonel  Ormonde 
found  himself  by  the  will  of  his  wife,  once  more  established  in  Lon- 
don lod<jings— of  a  dingier  and  obscurer  order  than  those  in  which 
they  had  enjoyed  last  season. 

Mrs.  Ormonde  was  neither  intellectually  nor  morally  strong,  but 
she  had  one  reflex  ingredient  in  her  nature  which  was  to  her  both 


272  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

a  shield  and  spsar.  She  knew  what  she  wanted,  and  was  perfectly 
unscrupulous  as  to  the  means  of  g'cttiug'  it.  A  woman  who  is  pleas- 
antly indilfereat  to  the  wants  and  wishes  of  her  associates,  if  they 
happen  to  clash  with  ht;r  own,  is  tolerably  sure  to  have  her  own  way 
on  the  whole.  Now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  she  comes  to  grief ;  but  in 
her  general  success  these  failures  can  be  afforded. 

"When  first  the  tidings  of  George  Liddell's  return  and  his  assertion 
of  his  rights  reached  her,  she  was  terrified  and  undone  by  Colonel 
Ormonde's  fury  against  Katherine,  herself,  her  boys,  every  one. 
In  short,  that  gallant  officer  thoup'ht  he  had  done  a'  generous  and 
manly  thing,  when  he  married  the  piquant  little  widow  who  had 
attiiiitcd  him,  although  she  could  only  meet  her  personal  expenses 
and  those  of  hor  two  sons,  without  contributing  to  the  general  house- 
keeping. This  sense  of  his  own  magnanimity,  backed  by  the  con- 
sciousness that  it  did  not  cost  him  too  dear,  had  kept  Colonel  Or- 
monde in  the  happiest  of  moods  for  the  first  years  of  his  married 
life.  Terrible  was  the  awakening  from  the  dream  of  his  own  good 
luck  and  general  "  fine-fellowism  "  ;  and  heavily  would  the  punish- 
ment have  fallen  on  his  wife  had  she  been  a  sensitive  or  high- 
minded  woman.  Being,  however,  admirably  suited  to  the  partner 
of  her  life,  she  looked  round,  as  soon  as  the  first  burst  of  despair  was 
over,  to  see  how  she  could  make  the  best  of  her  position. 

She  was  really  vexed  and  irritated  to  find  how  little  tenderness 
or  reg'ard  her  husband  felt  for  her,  for  she  had  always  believed  that 
he  was  greatly  devoted  to  her.  To  both  of  them  the  outside  world 
was  all  in  all,' and  on  this  Mrs.  Ormonde  counted  largely.  Colonel 
Oi'monde  could  not  put  her  awav  or  lock  her  up  because  the  pro- 
vision made  by  Katherine  for  the  bo\'s  failed  her,  so  while  she  was 
mistress  of  Castleford  she  must  have  dresses  and  carriages  and 
consideration.  Knowing  herself  secure  on  these  points,  she  fear- 
lessly adopted  the  system  of  counter-irritation  she  described  to 
Katherine  ;  and  to  do  her  justice,  her  consciousness  that  the  boys 
were  safe  linder  the  care  of  their  aunt,  who  would  be  sure  to  treat 
them  well  and  kindly,  made  her  the  more  ready  to  brave  the 
dangers  of  her  husband's  wrath. 

"  He  must  behave  well  before  people,  or  men  will  say  he  is  a  'cad' 
to  visit  his  disappointment  on  his  poor  little  simple-hearted  wife," 
she  thought.  "He  knows  that.  Then  it  is  an  enormous  relief  that 
Katherine  still  clink's  to  the  boys,  poor  dears  !  She  really  is  a 
trump  ;  so  I  have  only  myself  to  think  of  ;  and  Duke  shall  find  that 
his  shabbincss  and  ill-temper  do  him  no  good.  It's  like  drawing  his 
teeth  to  get  my  quarter's  allowance,  beggarly  as  it  is,  from  him." 

Colonel  Ormonde's  reflections,  as  he  composed  a  letter  to  his  stew- 
ard, were  by  no  means  soothing.  Though  it  was  all  but  impossible 
for  him  -to  liold  his  tongue  respecting  his  disappointment,  whenever  a 
shade  of  difference  occurred  between  him  and  his  wife,  he  was  un- 
comfortably conscious  that  he  often  acted  like  a  brute  toward  the 
mother  of  his  boy,  of  whom  he  was  so  proud  ;  he  was  not  therefore  the 
more  disposed  to  rule  his  hasty,  inconsiderate  temper.  The  fact  that 
Mrs.  Ormonde  had  her  own  methods  of  paying  him  back  disposed 
him  to  respect  her,  and  it  could  not  be  doubted  that  in  time  the 
fciction  of  their  natures  would  rub  off  the  angles  of  each,  and  they 


,  A  CROOKED  PATH.  273 

vrould  settle  down  into  tolerable  harmony,  whereas  a  proud,  true- 
hearted  woman  in  her  place  would  have  been  utterly  crushed  and 
never  forgiven. 

Ormonde,  then,  was  meditating  on  his  undeserved  misfortunes, 
when  the  door  was  somewliat  suddenly  and  vehemently  pushed 
open,  and  Mrs.  Ormonde  came  in,  her  eyes  sparkling,  and  evidently 
in  some  excitement. 

'*  What's  tlie  matter?"  as'^ed  her  husband,  not  too  amiably.  "Haa 
that  rascally,  intruding  fellow  Liiddell  iviclved  tlie  bucket  Y" 

"No  ;  but  wliom  no  you  think  1  saw  as  I  was  leaving  Mrs.  Ben- 
nett's in  Hyde  Park  Square,  you  knowi'" 

'*  How  can  I  tell  i'    The  policeman  perhaps." 

"Nonsense,  Duke  !  I  had  just  conu;down  the  steps,  and  was  turn 
ing  toward  Paddington,  for,  as  it  v.  as  early,  I  thought  I  would  take 
the  omnibus  to  Oxiord  Circus  (see  luw  careful  I  am  !),  when  I  saw  a 
beautiful  dark  brougham,  drawn  by  splendid  black  horse — the 
coachman,  the  whole  turnout,  quite  iirsc  rate— come  at  a  dashing 
pace  towards  me.  1  recognized  Lord  de  Eurgh  inside,  and  who  do 
you  think  was  sitting  beside  him  ?"' 

"God  knows  I    Tlie  Sarato'iski  perhaps." 

"Really,  Ormonde,  1  am  astonished  at  your  mentioning  that 
dreadful  woman  to  me. 

"  Oh  !  are  you.'^     Well,  who  was  Da  Burgli's  companion  ?" 

"Charlie!  my  Charlie  !  and  Cis  was  on  tiie  front  seat.  Cis  saw 
me,  for  he  clapped  his  hands  and  pointed  as  they  flew  i)ast.  Whal;  do 
you  think  of  that  ?" 

"By  George  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  capital  letters.  "  I  believe  he  is 
still  after  Katherine.    If  so,  she'll  have  the  devil's  own  luck." 

"Now  listen  to  me.  As  Wilton  Street  was  quite  n jar,  I  went  on 
there  to  g'ather  what  I  could  from  Miss  Payne.  She  Avas  at  home, 
and  a  little  less  sour  and  silent  then  usual.  She  was  sorry,  she  said, 
the  boys  were  out.  They  havQ  been  with  her  for  a  week,  and  Lord 
de  Burgh  had  been  most  kind.  He  had  taken  them  to  the  Zoological 
Gardens  and  Madame  Tussaud's,  and  just  now  had  called  for  them 
to  go  to  the  circus.  Isn't  it  wonderful/*  Do  try  and  picture  De  Burgh 
at  Madame  Tussaud's. " 

"There  is  only  only  one  way  of  accounting  for  such  sti-ange  con- 
duct," returned  the  Colonel,  thoughtfully.  "He  mean^  to  marry 
your  sister.    This  would  change  the  face  of  aliairs  considerably." 

"  Yes  ;  it  would  be  delightful." 

" I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  Ormonde,  seriously.  "Now 
that  he  is  in  love  —and  you  know  he  is  all  iire  and  tow— he  makes  a 
fuss  about  the  boys  ;  but  wait  till  he  is  married,  and  he  will  try  to 
shift  them  back  on  you.  AVhy  should  he  put  up  with  his  wife's 
nephew  s  any  more  than  I  do  with  nif/  wife's  sons?' 

"Becau.se  he  is  more  in  love,  and  a  gootl  deal  richer,"  returned 
Mrs.  Ormonde. 

"More  in  love!  Bosh!  In  the  middle  of  the  fever,  you  mean. 
Of  course  that  will  pass  over." 

"  Really  men  are  great  brutes,"  observed  Mrs.   Ormonde,  philo- 
sophically. 
"And  women  awful  fools,"  added  her  husband. 


274  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Well,  perhaps  so,"  she  returned,  with  a  slight  smile  and  a  sharp 
g-lauce. 

"  Serifixisly,  though,"  resumed  Colonel  Ormonde,  "it's  all  very- 
well  for  Katherine  to  make  a  good  match,  and  if  De  Burgh  is  fool 
enough  to  be  in  earnest,  it  will  be  a  splendid  match  for  her  ;  but 
things  may  be  made  rather  rough  for  me.  That  fellow  De  Burgh  has 
the  queerest  crotchets,  and  doosn't  hesitate  to  air  them.  He'd  think 
nothing  of  slapping  my  shoulder  in  the  club  before  a  dozen  mem- 
bers, and  asking  me  if  I  meant  to  leave  my  wife's  brats  on  his 
hands." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?  Oh,  Katherine  would  never  let  him. 
She  dearly  loves  the  bo.ys." 

"  Wait' till  she  has  a  son  of  her  own." 

"  Even  so.  She  has  her  faults,  I  know.  Her  temper  is  rather 
violent,  her  ideas  are  two  highfiown  and  nonsensical,  and  she  won't 
take  advice,  but  she  never  would  injure  nw,  I  am  sure  of  that." 

An  inarticulate  grunt  from  Colonel  Ormonde,  as  he  fixed  his 
double  glass  on  his  nose  and  took  up  his  pen  again. 

"  Duke,"  resumed  Mrs.  Ormonde,  after  a  pause,  "don't  you  think 
I  had  better  go  and  see  Katherine?  You  know  we  never  had  any 
quarrel,  and  that  Mrs.  Needham  she  lives  with  gives  very  nice 
parties." 

"  Parties  !  By  Jove !  you'd  go  to  old  Nick  for  a  party.  What 
good  will  it  do  you  to  meet  a  pack  of  beggarly  scribblers  ? 

"They  may  not  have  money,  Duke,  but  they  have  wnnners,  and 
something  to  say  for  themselves,"  she  retorted.  "Never  mind 
about  the  parties.  Don't  you  think  I  would  bettor  call  on  Kath- 
erine?" 

"  Do  as  you  like.  consider  that  she  has  behaved  very  badly — 
with  exti'eme  insolence  ;  but  I  don't  want  to  iniluenca  you."  I'his 
in  a  tone  of  magnanimity,  as  he  began  to  write  with  an"  air  of  pro- 
found attention. 

Mrs.  Ormonde  made  a  swift  contemptuous  grimace  at  his  back, 
and  said,  in  mellifluous  tones :  "  Very  well,  dear.  I  may  as  well  go 
at  once,  and  perhaps  she  will  come  with  me  to  that  dress-making 
ally  of  hers.  Miss  Trant.  I  hear  she  is  raising  her  prices,  but  she 
will  not  do  so  to  me  if  I  am  with  her  original  patroness." 

"Oh,  do  as  vou  like;  only  don't  send  me  in  a  long  milliner's 
bill." 

"  I  am  sure,  Duke,  my  clothes  never  cost  you  much." 

"Not  so  far,  but  the  future  looks  rather  blue." 

To  this  she  made  no  reply.  Leaving  the  room  noiselessly,  she 
retired  to  give  a  touch  of  kohl  to  her  eyes,  a  dust  of  pearl  powder  to 
her  cheeks,  and  then  started  on  her  mission  of  inquiry  and  reconcilia- 
tion. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  Katherine  was  greatly  touched  by  De 
Burgh's  thoughtful  kindness  to  her  bovs.  She  had  been  a  good 
deal  troubled  about  their  holidays,  for  she  did  not  like  to  take  full 
advantage  of  Mrs.  Needham's  kind  permission  to  absent  herself  as 
much  as  she  liked  in  order  to  be  with  them,  and  she  well  knew  that 
in  Miss  Payne's  very  orderly  establishment  the  two  restless,  active 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  275 

little  fellows  would  be  a  most  discordant  ingredient.  Above  all, 
she  wanted  them  to  have  a  very  happy  holiday,  as  she  feared  their 
cloudless  sunny  days  were  numbered. 

The  second  mornino-,  therefore,  after  she  had  deposited  them  in 
"Wilton  Street,  when  sne  went  to  inquire  for  them,  and  found  that 
Lord  de  Burgh  had  called  and  carried  them  off  to  have  luncheon 
with  him  first,  and  to  spend  the  afternoon  at  the  Zoological  Gardens 
after,  she  could  hardly  credit  her  ears. 

"I  must  say,"  observed  Miss  Payne,  "that  I  am  agreeably  sur- 
prised.   I  had  no  idea  Lord  de  Burgh  was  so  straightforward  and  . 
well-disposed  a  man.    A  little  abrupt,  and  would  not  stand  any  i 
nonsense,  I  fancy,  but  a  sterling  character.    He  has  tact  too.    lie 
always  spoke  of  the  boys  as  his  cousin  Colonel  Ormonde's  step-sons. 
He  might  be  a  good  friend  to  them,  Katherine." 

"  No  doubt,"  she  replied,  thoughtfully. 

"  He  will  send  his  butler  or  house-steward  to  take  them  to  Kew 
Gardens  to-morrow ;  but  I  dare  say  he  will  call  and  tell  you  him- 
self." 

"He  is  wonderfully  good,"  said  Katherine,  feelino-  puzzled  and 
oppressed.  "I  will  go  back,  then,  as  fast  as  I  can,  and  get  my  work 
done  by  six  o'clock  ;  then  I  may  spend  the  evening  here  wiith  you 
and  the  boys.'' 

"Pray  do,  if  you  can  manage  it." 

Lord  de  Burgh's  remarkable  conduct  troubled  Katherine  a  good 
deal.  How  ought  she  to  act ?  Certainly  he  would  not  put  himself 
out  of  the  way  for  Cis  and  Charlie,  had  he  not  wished  to  please  her, 
or  really  interested  himself  in  them  for  her  sake.  Ought  she  to 
encourage  him  by  accepting  these  very  useful  and  kindly  atten- 
tions? How  could  she  reject  them  without  saying  as  plainly  by 
action  as  in  words,  "I  know  you  are  pressing'  your  suit  upon  me, 
and  I  will  not  have  it,"  which,  after  all,  might  be  a  mistake  ;  besides, 
she  would  thus  deprive  her  nephews  of  much  pleasure.  She  could 
not  come  to  a  conclusion  ;  she  must  let  herself  drift.  But  the  ques- 
tion tormented  her,  and  it  was  with  an  effort  she  banished  it,  and 
applied  herself  to  her  task  of  arrano-ing  her  chief's  notes. 

Mrs.  Needham  was  exceedingly  busy  that  afternoon,  and  did  not 

fo  out,  as  she  had  some  provincial  and  colonial  letters  to  finish,  and 
ad  a  couple  of  en^-agements  in  the  evening.  She  and  her  secretary 
therefore  wrote  diligently  till  about  half -past  five,  when  Ford,  the 
smart  parlor- maid,  annoimced  that  "  the  gentleman"  and  two  little 
boys  were  in  the  drawing-room. 

''Good  gracious  !"  cried  Mrs.  Needham,  slipping  off  her  glasses. 
"This  is  growing  interesting.    I  shall  go  and  speak  to  Lord  do 
Burgh  myself.    Besides,  I  want  to  see  your  boys,  my  dear.    How 
funny  it  sounds !" 
"  Do,  Mrs.  Needham.    1  will  come." 

Lord  de  Burgh  was  glaring  absently  out  of  the  window,  and  the 
boys  were  eagerly  examining  the,diverse  and  sundry  objects  thickly 
scattered  around.  They  had  wonderfully  dirty  hands  and  faces, 
their  jackets  were  splashed  as  if  with  some  foaming  beverag-e,  tho 
knees  of  their  knickerbockers  were  grubby  with  gravel  and  grass, 
and  they  had  generally  the  aspect  of  having  done  wildly  what  they 
listed  for  some  hours. 


276  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"Lorrldo  Burg-h,  J  suppose?"  said  Mrs.  Needham,  in  loud  and 
cheerful  accents.  "I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you  "  (De  Burgh 
bowed)  ;  "and  you,  my  dears— I  am  very  g-lad'to  see  you  too, 
especially  if  you  will  be"so  good  as  not  to  touch  my  china  !'* 

"  We  haven't  broken  anything" !"  cried  Cecil,  coming-  up  to  her 
and  g-iving-  her  a  dingy  little  paw,  while  he  stared  in  her  face. 
"  Where  is  auntie?" 

"She'll  be  here  directly.  This  is  Charlie:  what  a  sweet  little 
fellow  !    Why,  your  eyes  are  like  \'our  aunt's." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  De  Buigh,  drawing"  near.  "They  are 
lig-hter— a  g"ood  deal  lighter." 

"Perhaps  so.  The  shape  and  expression  are  like,  though.  And 
so  you  have  been  to  see  the  lions  and  tigers  ?" 

"And  the  bears,"  put  in  Charlie. 

"  Isn't  Lord  de  Burgh  kind  to  take  you—" 

"He  in  !  he's  a  jolly  chap  !"  cried  Cecil,  warmly.  "I  shouldn't 
mind  living  with  him." 

"  Nor  I  ei  her,"  added  Charlie. 

Here  Katherine  made  her  appearance,  a  conscious  look  in  her 
ej'es,  a  flitting  blush  on  her  cheek.  The  boys  immediately  flew  to 
hug  and  ki.ss  her,  barely  allowing  her  to"  shake  hands  'with  De 
Burgh.  Then,  when  she  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  Charlie  established 
himself  on  her  knee  and  Cecil  knelt  on  the  sofa,  the  better  to  put  his 
arms  round  her  neck. 

"What  dreadfully  dirty  little  boys  !  What  have  you  been  doing 
to  yourselves  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  have  been  on  the  elephant  and  the  camel,  and  in  the 
ostrich  cart.  Then  Charlie  tumbled  down  in  the  monkey -house. 
Oh,  how  funny  the  monkeys  are!  and  he"  (pointing  to  Lord  de 
Burgh)  "took  us  to  dinner.  Such  a  be  lUtiful  dinner  in  a  lovely 
room  !    He  says  he  will  take  us  to  the  circus." 

"  I'll  ask  him  to  take  you  too,  auntie  !"  cried  Charlie. 

"Oh  yes  !"  echoed  Cecil.  "  You'll  take  her,  Lord  de  Burgh,  won't 
you?    I  don't  think  auntie  ever  saw  a  circus." 

"If  you  promise  to  be  verjf  good,  and  that  your  aunt  too  will  be 
quiet  and  well-behaved,  I  may  be  induced  to  let  her  come,"  re  urned 
De  Burgh,  his  deep-set  eyes  glittering  with  fun  and  anticipated 
plensTire. 

"  Tiia.ik  y  iu,"  said  Katherine,  laughing,  as  soon  as  her  delighted 
nephew  c.a.s.-d  Icissing  her. 

"And  you'll  come?— the  day  after  to-morrow?  I  will  call  for  the 
boys,  liring  them  round  here." 

"  If  1  have  nothing  special — "  she  began. 

"Certainly  not ;  I  will  take  care  of  that," cried  Mrs.  Needham. 
"  It  is  such  a  great  thing  to  get  a  little  amusement  for  the  poor  little 
fellows,  and  so  very  kind  of  Lord  de  Burgh  to  take  so  much 
trouble." 

"It  is  indeed.  I  really  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  enough," 
said  Katherine.  "Mrs.  Needham,  I  must  really  take  them  to  wash 
their  hands ;  they  are  so  terriblv  dirty  !" 

"No;  ring  the  bell ;  Ford  will  manage  them  nicely,  and  bring 
them  back  in  a  few  minutes."  ]\Irs.  Needham  rang  energetically  as 
she  spoke,  and  the  young  gentleivn  were  speedily  marched  off, 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  2'/7 

"I  am  afraid  lam  not  a  wise  child's  guide,"  said  DeBurg-h,  lau^Ix* 
ing-;  "but  they  ran  and  tumbled  about  till  they  got  into  an  awfid 
pickle.  They  are  really  capital  little  fellows,  and  most  amusing, 
w  hen  do  they  go  back  to  scho  j1  ?" 

"  In  about'ten  days— on  the  25th.  I  assure  you  I  quite  dread  their 
going  to  this  Wandsworth  place.  They  have  been  asking,  entreating 
me  to  let  them  go  back  to  Sandbourne,  but  I  think  Cis  at  last  grasps 
the  idea  that  it  is  a  question  of  money." 

"  It's  an  early  initiation  for  him,"  observed  De  Burgh,  as  if  to  him- 
self. Then,  eag'erly:  "You'll  be  sure  to  come  with  us  on  Friday,  Miss 
Liddell?  The  boys  will  enjoy  the  performance  ever  so  much  mora  if 
you  are  with  them." 

Katherine  looked  for  half  a  second  at  Mrs.  Needham,  who  nodded 
and  frowned  in  a  very  energetic  and  atfirmative  way.  "I  shall  bo 
very  glad  to  enjoy  it  with  them,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "if  Mrs. 
Needham  can  spare  me." 

"Of  c^urso  I  can,"— briskly.  "Lord  do  Burgh,  if  you  care  for 
music — not  severe  classical  music,  you  know — ballads,' recitatives, 
and  that  sort  of  thing— Hyacinth  O'Hara,  the  new  tenor,  and  Mr. 
Merrydew,  that  wonderful  mimic  and  singer,  arc  coming  to  me 
next  Tuesday ;  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  yoii." 

"  Not  so  dcilighted,  I  am  sure,  as  I  shall  be  to  come,"  rettirncd  De 
Burgh,  with  unusual  suavity. 

"  Very  well— half  past  nine.    Don't  be  late,  and  don't  forget." 

"No  dan^'er  of  forgettir.g,  I  assure  you." 

"By-the-bye,"  resumed  Mrs.  Needfiam,  as  if  seized  Avith  a  happy 
thoug-^lit,  "Angela  Bradley  receives  on  Sunday  aft.'rnooiisat  their 
deliglitful  villa  at  Wimbledon  all  through  the  season.  Her  first  '  at 
home '  will  be  the  Sunday  after  next.  I  am  sure  she  will  be  delight- 
ed to  see  any  friend  of  Miss  Liddell's." 

"If  MissLiddell  will  be  so  good  as  to  answer  for  me,  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  present  myself.  To  make  sure  of  being  properly- 
backed  up,  sup]X)se  I  call  here  for  Miss  Liddell  and  yourself,  and 
and  drive  you  down  ? 

"Is  ;t  not  rather  far  off  to  make  arrangements?"  asked  Kather- 
ine, growing  somewhat  unea.sy  at  thus  drifting-  into  a  succession  of 
of  engagements  with  the  man  she  half  liked,  half  dreaded. 

"FaroiT!"  echoed  Mrs.  Need  ham.  "You  don't  call  ten  days  fax* 
off?  But  I  must  run  away  and  finish  my  letter.  A  journalist  is 
the  slave  of  her  pen.  Good  morning,  Lord  de  Burgh.  I'll  send  the 
boys  to  you,  Katherine." 

"Thai  is  an  admirable  and  meritorious  woman," and  De  Burgh, 
drawing  a  chair  beside  the  sofa  where  Katherine  sat.  "Why  are 
you  so  savagely  opposed  to  anything  like  friendly  intercourse  with 
ine— so  reluctant  to  let  me  do  anything  for  you?  Do  you  think  I 
am  such  a  cad  as  to  think  that  aivfthhuj  I  could  do  would  entitle  mo 
to  consider  you  under  an  obligation?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Lord  de  Burgh!  I  believe  you  to  be  too  true  a  gentlO' 
man  for-" 

"For  what?  i  see  you  are  afraid  of  giving  me  v/hat  is  called,  in 
the  slang  of  the  matrimonial  market,  encouragement.  Just  put  all 
that  oUt  of  your  niind.    Let  me  have  a  little  enjoyment,  howyvw 


278  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

thing's  may  end,  and,  believe  me,  I'll  never  blame  you.  I  am  nos 
going  to  trouble  you  with  my  hopes  and  wishes,  not  at  least  for 
some  time  ;  and  tnen,  whatever  the  upshot,  on  my  head  be  it." 

"But  I  cannot  bear  to  give  you  pain." 

"  Then  don't—" 

"Auntie,  we  are  quite  clean.  Won't  you  come  back  to  tea  at 
Miss  Payne's  ?    Do  make  her  come,  Lord  de  Burgh. 

"Ah,  it  is  beyond  my  powers  to  make  her  do  anything." 

"I  cannot  come  now,  my  darlings;  but  I  will  be  with  vou  about 
half  i)ast  six,  and  we'll  have  a  game  before  you  go  to  bed^." 

"Come  along,  hoys;  we  have  intruded  on  your  aunt  long  enough. 
Don't  forget  the  circus  on  Friday,  Miss  Liddell." 

Another  hug  from  Cis  and  Cnarlie,  a  slig'ht  hand  pressure  from 
their  newly  found  playfellow,  and  Katheriue  was  left  to  her  own 
reflections. 

The  expedition  to  the  circus  was  most  successful.  It  was  on  his 
way  from  Wilton  Street  to  call  for  Katherine,  on  this  occasion,  that 
De  Burgh  encountered  Mrs.  Ormonde.  Need  we  say  that  she  lost 
no  time  in  making  the  proposed  call  on  her  sister-in-law;  unfor- 
tunately Katherine  was  out;  so  Mrs.  Ormonde  was  reducexi  to  writ- 
ing a  requisition  for  an  interview  with  her  boys  and  their  aunt. 

This  was  accordingly  planned  at  Miss  Payne's  house,  and  Mrs. 
Ormonde  was  quite  charming,  playful,  affectionate,  tearful,  repen- 
tant, apologetic  for  "Ormonde,"  and  deeply  moved  at  parting  from 
her  boys,  who  where  somewhat  awed  by  this  di.splay  of  feeling. 
Still  sKe  did  not  succeed  in  breaking  the  "cold  chain  of  silence' 
which  Katherine  persisted  in  "hanging"  over  the  events  of  the  past 
week. 

"  So  De  Bur";'h  took  the  boys  about  everywhere?"  said  Mrs.  Or- 
monde, as  Katherine  went  down-stairs  m  ith  her  when  she  was  leav- 
ing, and  they  were  alone  together.  "It  is  something  new  for  him 
to  play  the  part  of  children's  maid;  and,  do  you  know,  he  only  left 
cards  on  us,  and  never  asked  to  come  in." 

"He  was  always  good-natured,"  returned  Katherine,  with  some 
embarrassment;  "and,  you  remember,  he  used  to  notice  Cis  and 
Charlie  at  Castleford  a  good  deal." 

"  Yes;  after  i/ou  came,"  signi^cantly.  "  Never  micd,  Katie  den' , 
I  am  not  going  to  worry  you  wi:h  trcublepome  que.sti.-:ns.  but  I  am 
sure  no  one  in  the  Avor Id  would  be  more  deiigiited  than  myself  t/ui 
you  make  a  brillant  match." 

"  Believe  me,  there  will  never  be  anything  brilliant  about  mo, 
Ada" 

"  Well,  we'll  see.    When  do  j^ou  take  the  boj's  to  school." 

"On  Wednesday;  should  you  like  to  come  and  see  the  place?" 

"I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  but  I  mustn't,  dear." 

"I  do  hope  the  school  may  prove  all  I  expect;  but  the  change  will 
be  bad  for  Charlie.  He  had  lost  nearly  all  his  nervousness;  strange 
teachers  and  a  new  svstem  may  bring  it  back." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not.  "Does  he  still  stop  short  and  speechless,  and  then 
laugh  as  if  it  were  a  o-ood  joke,  when  he  is  puzzled  or  frightened?" 

"very  rarely,  I  believe.    I  will  write  to  you  the  day  after  I  leave 


A  CROOKED  PATU  279 

the  boys  at  Wandsworth.  They  don't  like  going  at  all,  poor 
dears. ''^ 

"  Well,  we  shall  not  be  much  longer  in  town,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
and  I  want  a  few  things  from  Miss  Trant  before  I  go.  1  suppose  she 
will  not  raise  her  prices  to  me  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  I  am  sure  she  will  not." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"miss  BRADLEY  AT  HOME." 

It  was  a  bleak,  blowy  day  when  Katherine  took  the  boys  to  school, 
and  on  returning  she  went  straight  to  Miss  Payne,  who  had  promised 
to  have  tea  ready  for  her. 

Somewhat  to  her  regret,  she  found  only  BertiePayne,  who  explain- 
ed that  his  sister  had  been  called  away  about  some  business  connect- 
ed with  a  lady  with  whom  she  was  trying  to  come  to  terms  respect- 
ing her  house,  which  she  had  now  decided  on  letting. 

"And  how  did  you  part  Avith  the  boys  I'"  he  asked  when  he  had 
given  her  a  cup  of  tea  and  brought  her  "the  most  comfortable  chair, 

"It  was  very  hard  to  leave  them,"  retui-red  Katherine,  whose 
eyes  looked  suspiciously  like  recently  shed  tears.  "The  place  did 
not  look  half  so  nice  to-day  as  I  thought  it  was.  Everything  is 
rough  and  ready.  The  second  master,  too,  is  a  harsh,  seA'ere-looking 
man.  Of  course  he  has  not  much  authority  ;  still,  had  I  seen  him,  I 
do  not  think  I  should  have  agreed  to  send  Ois  and  Charlie  there  ;  but 
now  I  am  committed  to  a  quarter.  I  cannot  aTord  to  indulge  whims, 
and,  at  all  events,  they  arc  within  an  easy  distance.  Charlie  looked 
so  white,  and  clung  'to  me  as  if  he  would  never  let  me  go !  How 
hard  life  is !" 

"  Tliis  portion  of  it  is,  and  wisely  so.  We  must  set  our  affections 
on  things  above.  I  have  been  learning  this  lesson  of  late  as  I 
never  thoug'ht  I  should  have  to  k;arn  it." 

"  Vru  ?— you  who  are  so  good,  so  unworldly?  Oh,  Mr.  Payne, 
what  do  vou  mean  i*    You  are  looking  iil  ai.d  worn." 

"I  have  been  fighting  a  battle  of  late,"  he  returned,  Avith  his 
sweet,  patient  smile,  "  and  I  have  conquered.  The  riglit  road  has 
been  shown  to  me,  the  right  way,  and  1  am  determined  to  walk  in 
it." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  asked  Katherine,  with  a  feeling  of 
alarm. 

'•I  am  going  to  take  orders,  and  join  the  missionary  ranks,  either 
in  India  or  China.  Work  in  England  was  growing  too  easy— too 
heavenly  sweet— to  be  anv  longer  sha  ing  to  my  own  soul." 

"  But'  Mr.  Pavne,  don't  you  see  that  your  own  poor  country  pco 
pie  have  the  first  claim  upon  you— that  you  are  leavijig  a  work  for 
which  you  are  so  wonderfully"  well  suited,  in  which  you  are  so  sue 
cessful  ?  Oh,  do  think  !  Here  you  leave  people  of  your  own  race, 
whose  wants,  whose  characters  you  can  understand,  to  run  away  tc 
creatures  of  another  climate— a  different  stock— whose  natures,  ia 


280  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

ray  opinion,  unfit  them  for  a  faith  such  as  ours,  and  who  never, 
never  will  accept  our  religion  !" 

"  Hush  !"  cried  Pavne,  in  an  excited  tone.  "Do  not  torture  me 
by  showing  the  appalling  gulf  which  separates  us.  Strange  that  a 
heart  so  tender  as  vours  to  all  mere  human  miseries  should  yet  be 
adamant  against  tfie  Saviour's  lovin"'  touch.  This  has  been  my  cruel 
cross,  and  my  onlv  safety  lies  in  iiigut,  wretched  man  that  I  am  !" 

•'!  am  dreadfully  distressed  about  you,  Mr.  Payne.  Does  your 
Li .  .r  know ?    It  is  really  unkind  to  her." 

■"That  must  not  weigh  with  me.  Even  if  the  right  hand  offends 
you,  'cut  it  off,'  is  the  command." 

"At  all  events,  you  must  study,  or  go  though  some  preparation, 
before  you  are  ordained,  and  perhaps  in  that  interval  you  may 
change  your  views.  I  do  hope  you  will.  I  should  be  indeed  sorry 
to  lose  sight  of  a  true  friend  like  yourself." 

"A  friend!"  he  returned,  his  brow  contracting  as  if  with  pain. 
"  You  do  not  know  the  depths  of  my  selfishness " 

The  entrance  of  Miss  Payne  interrupted  the  conversation,  and 
Bertie  immediately  changing  the  subject,  Katherine  understood 
that  he  did  not  as  yet  intend  to  speak  to  his  sister  of  his  new 
plans. 

To  Miss  Payne,  Katherine  had  again  to  describe  her  parting  with 
her  nephews,  "and  she,  in  her  turn,  talked  comfortably  of  her  affairs. 
She  thought  of  going  abroad  for  a  short  time  should  she  let  her 
house,  as  nothing  very  eligible  offered  in  the  shape  of  a  young  lady 
to  chajoeron.  Indeed  she  was  somewhat  tired  of  that  sortof  life,  etc., 
etc.  At  length  Katherine  bade  them  adieu,  and  returned  to  her 
present  abode  with  a  very  sad  heart. 

The  parting  with  her  nephews  had  been  a  sore  trial.  The  idea  of 
Bertie,  her  kind  friend,  whose  sympathetic  companionship  had 
helped  her  so  much  to  overcome  the  poignancy  of  her  first  grief  for 
her  dear  mother,  going  away  to  banishment,  and  perhaps  death,  at 
the  hands  of  those  whose  souls  he  went  to  save,  caused  her  the  keen- 
est pain  :  and  for  nearly  a  fortnight  she  had  not  seen  Errington ! 
She  could  not  bring  herself  to  ask  where  he  was,  and  no  one  had 
happened  to  mention  him.  This  was  really  better.  His  absence  should 
be  a  help  to  foi'getfulness  ;  but  somehow  it  was  not.  He  was  so 
vividly  before  her  eyes  ;  his  voice  sounded  so  perpetually  in  her 
heart. 

Why  could  she  not  think  thus  of  De  Burgh,  whose  devotion  to  ho: 
was  evident,  and  whom,  in  spite  of  herself  as  it  seemed,  she  was,  to 
a  certain  degree,  encoura^-ing  i-* 

She  felt  unutterably  helpless  and  oppressed.  Moreover,  she  was 
distressed  by  the  consciou.sne.ss  that  the  small  reserve  fund  which 
she  had  with  difhculty  preserved,  could  barely  meet  unexpected  de- 
mands such  as  removing  the  boys  from  school,  if  necessary,  an 
attack  of  illness,  a  dozen  contingencies,  any  or  all  of  which  "were 
possible,  if  not  imminent. 

Such  a  mood  made  her  feel  peculiarly  unfit  to  shine  at  Mis.  Need- 
hams  reception.  Still  it  was  better  to  be  oblig-ed  to  talk  and  to 
think  about  others  than  to  brood  perpetually  on  her  ov.n  troubles. 
So  she  arrayed  herself  in  one  of  the  pretty  soft  grey  demi -toilette 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  281 

dresses  which  remained  among'  her  well-stocked  wardrobe,  and  pre- 
pared to  assist  her  chief  in  receiving-  her  guests,  who  soon  flocked  in 
so  rapidly  as  to  make  sejjarate  receptions  impossible.  Miss  Bradley 
came  early,  arrayed  in  wliite  silk  and  lace  with  diamond  stars  in  her 
coronet  of  thickly -plaited  red  hair.  She  was  looking-  i-adiantly  well 
— so  well  and  unusually  animated  that  her  asjx'ct  struck  sudden 
terror  into  Katherine's  "heart ;  something  had  gladdened  her  heart 
to  give  that  expression  of  joyous  softness  to  her  ej'es.  But  it  was 
weak  and  contemptible  to  let  this  sudden  fear  overmaster  her,  so  she 
strove  to  be  amused  and  interested  in  the  conversation  of  those  she 
knew,  and  her  acquaintance  had  increased  enormously  since  she 
came  to  reside  with  Mrs.  Needham. 

Presently  Katherine  caught  sight  of  a  stately  head  above  the 
general  level  of  the  crowd,  and  a  pair  of  grave  eyes  evidently  seek- 
ing something.  Who  was  Errington  looking  for?  Miss  Bradley, 
of  course !  As  she  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  De  Burgh  appeared 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  looking,  as  he  always  did,  extremely  dis- 
tinguished—his dark  strong  face  showing  in  remarkable  contrast  to 
the  simpering  young  minstrels,  pale  young  poets,  and  long-haired 
professors  who  foi'med  the  larger  half  of  the  male  guests. 

"  Well,  Miss  Liddell,  are  you  quite  well  and  flourishing'?  Why, 
it  is  quite  three  days  since  I  saw  yoxi,"  he  a.sked,  and  his  eyes  dwelt 
on  her  with  a  look  of  utter  restful  satisfaction— a  look  that  disturbed 
her. 

"Is it,  indeed?  They  seem  all  rolled  into  a  single  disagreeable 
one  to  me." 

*'  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  De  Burgh,  in  a  low  confidential  tone. 
"Must  you  stand  here  in  the  gangway?  it's  awfully  hot  and 
crowded.'' 

Before  she  could  reply,  Errington  forced  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  aiid  addressed  her. 

"I  began  to  fear  1  should  not  find  you.  Miss  Liddell,"  he  said, 
with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  1  have  been  away  for  some  time— though 
perhaps  you  were  not  aware  of  it." 

"  1  was  aware  we  did  not  see  you  as  frequently  as  usual.  Where 
have  you  been  ?" 

"On  a  secret  and  delicate  mission  wh  ch  taxed  all  my  diplomatic 
skill,  for  I  had  to  deal  wi:li  an  extreme  y  crotchettv  Sfotchuian." 

"You  make  me  feel  de.si)erately  curious,"  said  Katherine,  lan- 
guidlv. 

"How  do  you  do,  Errington?"  put  in  De  Burgh.  "I  haard  of 
you  in  Edinburgh  last  wcv.k  ;"  ar.d  they  e>.  changed  a  few  words. 
Then,  to  Katherine's  annovance.  Da  Burgli  sakl,  with  an  air  of  pro- 
prietorship, "lam  going  to  take  M  ss  Liild  11  out  of  this  mob,  to 
iiave  tea  and  air,  if  we  can  get  any.  i  have  to  hear  news,  too,"  he 
added,  signiticaiitly.  ,.  .  ,        .  , 

Errington  grew  very  grave,  and  drew  back  immediately  with  a 
slight  bow,  as  if  he  accepted  a  dismissal  ,  ,     „      , 

There  was  no  help  for  it,  so  Kalherine  took  De  Burgh  s  offered  arm 
and  went  downstairs.  _    .  .,  t^  ., 

"  I  wonder  what  the  secret  mission  could  have  been?"  said  Kath- 
erine, when  they  found  themselves  in  the  tea-room. 


282  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

"God  knows!  I  wonder  Erring-ton  did  not  g-o  in  for  diplomacy 
when  he  smashed  up.  He  is  just  the  man  for  protocols,  and  solemn 
mysteries,  and  all  that." 

"''Men  cannot  jump  into  diplomatic  apix)intments,  can  they?" 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.     1  h«ar  some  of  Erring-ton's  political  articles 

have  attracted  Lord  G 's  notice  ;  they  say  he'll  be  in  Parliament 

one  of  these  days.  Well,  he  deserves  to  win,  if  that  sort  of  thing  be 
worth  winning-." 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Have  you  no  ambition,  Lord  de  Burgh  ?  Were  I 
a  man,  I  should  be  very  ambitious." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  would ;  and  if  you  had  a  husband  you'd 
drive  him  up  the  ladder  at  the  bayonet's  point." 

"Poor  man  !    I  pity  him  beforehand." 

"I  don't,"  returned  De  Burgh,  shortly.  "Do  you  know,  I  have 
just  been  dining  with  Ormonde  and  his  wife,  not  as  their  guest,  but 
at  Lady  Mary  Vincent's.  Tell  me,  hasn't  he  behaved  ratlier  badly 
to  you?  I  want  to  know,  because  I  don't  want  to  cut  him  without 
reason." 

"  Pray  do  not  cut  him  on  my  account.  Lord  de  Burgh.  Colonel 
Ormonde  has  very  naturally,  for  a  man  of  his  calibre,  felt  disgusted 
at  my  inability  to  carry  out  my  original  arrangements  respecting 
my  nephews,  and  he  showed  his  displeasure,  after  his  kind,  with 
remarkable  frankness  ;  but  I  am  not  the  least  angry,  and  I  beg  you 
will  make  no  diti'erence  for  my  sake." 

"If  you  really  wish  it — "  he  paused,  and  then  went  on— "Mrs. 
Ormonde  whined  a  good  deal  to  mc  in  a  corner  about  her  affection 
for  you,  her  hard  fate,  Ormonde's  brutality,  etc.,  etc.  ;  she  is  a 
ruxrc  little  devil." 

"  Poor  Ada  !  I  fancy  she  has  not  had  a  pleasant  time  of  it.  Had 
she  been  a  woman  of  feeling,  it  would  have  been  too  dreadful.." 

"Well,  you  make  your  mind  easy  on  that  score.  Now,  what 
about  the  boys?" 

Katherine  was  vexed  to  find  how  impossible  it  was  to  talk  of  them 
with  composure:  she  was  unhinged  in  .some  unaccountable  way, 
and  Lord  de  Burgh's  ill-repressyd  tenderness  made  her  feel  nervous. 
At  lengili  she  asked  him  to  come  upstairs  and  look  for  Mrs.  Needham, 
as  her  head  ached,  and  she  thought  she  would  like  to  retire  if  she 
ceukl  b(i  sparv'd. 

"  Yes.  vou  had  better— 30U don't  seem  up  to  much,"  he  returned, 
r"ssing  lier  hard  sligiitly  against  his  side  "  I  can't  liear  to  see  you 
look  worried  and  ill.  That's  not  a  civil  speech,  I  suppose  ;  but,  ill 
01-  well,  you  />•«?;/,- your  face  is  always  the  sweetest  to  me,  and  I  am 
always  dying  to  know  v/hat  you  are  thinking  of  There,  I  will  not 
worrv  you  now  ;  but  shall  you  be  '  fit '  for  this  function  on  Sunday  ?" 

"  ()h,  yes,  quite." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  run  down  to  Wales — some  matters  there  want 
the  master's  eye,  they  tell  me— but  I  shall  return  Friday  or  Saturday. 
By  the  way,  I  wish  you  would  introduce  me  to  this  wonderful  Angela 
of  Mrs.  Ncedham's." 

"Certainly." 

On  entering-  the  draAvinsr-room,  the  first  forms  that  met  their  eyes 
were  Erringtbn  and  Miss  Bradley  ;  she  was  sitting  in  a  large  crina- 


I 


A   CROOKED  PATH.  283 

son  velvet  chair,  against  the  back  of  which  Erring-ton  was  leaning. 
Angela  was  looking  up  at  him  with  a  peculiarly  happy,  absorbed  ex- 
pression, while  his  nead  was  bent  towards  her 

"She  is  deucedly  handsome,"  said  De  Burgh,  critically,  "and 
much  too  pleasantly  engaged  to  be  interrupted.    I  can  \^ait." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  "would  be  unkind  to  break  in  on  such  a  conver- 
sation. Oh,  h3ro  is  Mrs.  Needham  '  Do  you  want  mc  very  much, 
Mrs.  Needham  ?  because,  if  not,  1  should  like  to  go  to  bed,  1  have  a 
tiresome  headache." 

"Go  by  all  means,  my  dear  ;  you  are  looking  like  a  ghost ;  they 
are  all  talking-  and  amusing  each  other  now,  and  don't  want  you  or 
me."  "Goodnight,  then,"  said  Katherine,  giving  her  hand  to  De 
Burgh,  and  she  glided  away. 

"What  a  lot  she  takes  out  of  herself !"  said  De  Burgh,  looking 
after  her. 

"  She  does  indeed,"  cried  Mrs.  Needham  ;  "  she  is  so  unselfish.  1 
hate  to  see  her  worried.  I  wonder  if  he  has  proposed?"  she  thought. 
"  I  think  he  is  pretty  far  gone.  Now  pray  don't  run  away  just  now  ; 
Merrydew  is  going  to  give  one  of  his  musical  sketches,  and  then  I 
want  to  introduce  vou  to  Professor  Gypsum.  He  thinks  there  ought 
to  be  a  rich  coal  seam  on  your  South  Wales  property  ;  he  is  a  most 
intelligent,  accomplished  man." 

"  Very  well— with  pleasure,"  said  De  Burgh,  complacently. 

It  was  rather  a  relief  to  be  quite  sure  that  De  Burgh  was  safe  out 
of  the  way  for  a  few  days  His  presence  alwass  disturbed  her  with 
a  mixed  sense  of  pain  and  self-reproach.  He  gave  her  no  opening 
to  warn  him  off,  yet  she  felt  that  ne  lost  no  opportunity  of  pushing 
his  mines  up  to  the  defences  ;  and  she  liked  him— liked  him  sincerely 
—always  believing  there  was  much  undeveloped  goodness  iinder  his 
rough  exterior. 

Sunday  came  quickly,  for  the  intervening  days  had  been  very 
fully  occupied,  and  thus  Katherine  had  been  saved  from  too  mucn 
thoiight  of  the  boys  and  their  possible  trials. 

It  was  a  soft,  lovely  spring  day.  The  lilacs  and  laburnums  had 
put  on  their  l)alldresses  for  the  .season,  and  there  was  a  fresh,  youth- 
ful feeling  in  the  air  The  villa  of  which  Angela  was  the'hapny 
mistress  was  one  of  the  few  old  places  standing  on  the  edge  of  the 
common  at  Wimbledon,  and  boasting  mos.sy  green  lawns,  huge 
cedar  trees,  and  delightful  shrubberies,  paths  leading  through  a 
well-disposixl  patch  of  plantation,  and  a  fine  view  from  the  windows 
of  the  deep  red  brick  mansion,  with  its  copings,  wiiidow-heads,  and 
pediments  of  white  stone 

Katherine  started  with  a  brave  determination  to  throw  off  dull  caro 
and  enjov  herself,  if  possible— -why  should  she  not?  Life  had  many 
sides,  and,  though  the  pre.sont  was  gloomy,  there  was  no  reason  why 
its  clouds  should  not  hide  bright  sunshine  which  lay  awaiting  th'o 
future.  She  had  manoeuvred  that  Mrs.  Needham  should  join  an 
elderly  couple  of  their  acquaintance  in  an  open  carriage,  and  so 
avoided  appearing  in  Lord  de  Burgh's  elegant  equipage. 

The  grounds  were  already  dotted  with  gaily  dressed  groups  ;  for, 
although  there  were  no  formally  invited  guests,  Miss  Bradley's  Sua- 


284  A  CROOKED  PATa 

days  were  lar^-ely  attended  by  her  extensive  circle  of  acquaintance, 
and  this  first  babbath  of  really  tine  spring  weather  broug-ht  a  large 
number  than  usual. 

"  I  am  o-lad  you  put  on  that  pretty  black  and  white  dress, "  whisper- 
ed Mrs.  Needham,  as  they  alighted  and  went  into  the  hall.  "Iseo 
everyone  is  in  their  best  "bibs  and  tuckers  ;— isn't  it  a  lovely  house  ! 
Ah  !  many  a  poor  author's  brain  has  paid  toll  to  provide  all  this." 

"I  suppose  so." 

"  Miss  Bradley  is  in  the  conservatory,"  said  a  polite  butler,  and 
into  a  deliciously  fragrant  conservatory  they  were  ushered. 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Liddell,"  said  Angela,  kindly,  when 
she  had  greeted  Mrs.  Needham.  "Thisisyour  first  visit  to  the  Court, 
Do  you  know  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  come  down  to  us  for  a  few 
days  ;  but,  when  I  looked  for  you  at  Mrs.  Needham's  the  other  night, 
you  had  vanished,  and  since  I  have  been  so  much  taken  up,  as  I 
will  explain  later,  that  I  have  been  quite  unable  to  write.  I  hope 
you  will  manage  to  pay  us  a  visit  next  week  ;  the  air  here  is  most 
reviving." 

"  You  are  too  good.  Miss  Bradley,"  returned  Katherine,  touched 
by  her  kind  tone.  "  If  Mrs.  Needham  can  spare  me,  I  shall  of  course 
be  delighted  to  come  ;"  and  she  resolved  mentally  that  she  should 
not  be  spared. 

"Major  Urquhart,"  continued  Miss  Bradley,  turning  to  a  very 
tall,  thin,  soldierly-looking  man,  who  might  once  have  been  fair, 
but  M^as  now  burnt  to  brickdust  hue,  with  long  tawny  moustache 
and  thick  overhanging  eyebrows  of  the  same  color,  "  pray  take  Miss 
Liddell  round  the  grounds,  and  show  her  mv  favorite  fernery." 

Major  Urquhart  bowed  low  and  presentecf  his  arm. 

** I  see,"  continued  Angela,  "that  Mrs.  Needliam  is  already  ab- 
sorbed by  a  dozen  dear  friends." 

"  You  have  not  been  here  before,"  said  Major  Urquhart,  in  a  deep 
hollow  voice. 

"Never." 

"  Ch.arming  place  !  immensely  improved  since  I  went  to  India  five 
years  ago." 

"Miss  Bradley  has  great  taste,"  remarked  Katherine. 

"  Wonderful— astonishing  ;  she  has  made  all  this  fernery  since  I 
was  here  last." 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause,  and  a  few  more  sentences  ex- 
pre.'jsive  of  admiration  were  exchanged,  and  somehow  Katherine 
began  to  feel  that  her  companion  was  x'ather  borexl  and  preoccupied, 
80  she  turned  her  steps  towards  the  house,  intending  to  release 
him. 

At  the  further  side  of  the  fernery,  in  a  pretty  path  between  green 
banks,  they  suddenly  met  Errington  face  to  face. 

"  Miss  Bradley  wan<^5  you,  Urquhart,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  they 
had  exchanged  salutations.  "You  may  leave  Miss  Liddell  in  my 
charge,  if  she  will  permit."  Major  Urquhart  bowed  himself  otT",  and 
Errington  continued,  "You  would  not  suspect  that  was  a  very  dis- 
tinguished officer. " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  he  seems  very  silent  and  inanimate." 

•*  Well,  I  assure  you  he  is  a  very  fine  fellow,  and  did  great  deeds 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  285 

in  the  Mutiny.    But  come,  the  lawn  is  looking-  quite  picturesque  in 
the  sunshine,  with  the  groups  of  ix3ople  scattered  about.   It  would  be 

Serfect  were  it  sleeping-  in  the  tranquil  sii^iice  of  a  resLful  Sabbath 
ay." 

"  Are  you  not  something-  of  a  hermit  in  your  tastes  ?"  asked  Kath 
erine,  looking-  ud  at  him  with  one  of  her  sunny  smiles. 

"By  no  means.    I  like  the  society   of  my  fellow-men,  but  1 
like  a  spell  oi  solitude  every  now  and  then,  as  a  rest  and  refresh 
ment  on  the  dusty  road  of  life." 

"  1  beg-in  to  think  peace  the  g-reatest  boon  heaven  can  bestow." 

"  Yes,  after  the  late  vicissitudes,  it  must  seem  to  you  the  g-reatest 
g-ood.  Let  us  sit  down  under  this  cedar  ;  there  is  a  pretty  peep 
across  the  common  to  the  blue  distance.  We  might  be  hundred 
miles  from  London,  everything  is  so  calm." 

They  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments,  a  sense  of  peace  and  safety 
stealing  over  Katherine's  heart. 

Suddenly  Errington  turned  to  her,  and  said, 

"  Our  friend  De  Burgh  can  scarcely  know  himself  in  his  new  con- 
dition." 

"  He  seems  remarkably  at  home,  however.  I  hope  he  will  distin- 
guish himself  as  an  enlightened  and  benevolent  legislator." 

"He  must  be  a  good  deal  changed  if  he  does.  You  have  seen  a 
great  deal  of  him,  1  believe,  since  he  returned  to  London  ?" 

"I  have  seen  him  several  times.  He  seems  to  get  on  with  Mrs. 
Needham." 

"With  Mrs.  Needham?"  repeated  Errington,  in  a  slightly  mock- 
ing tone,  and  elevating  his  eyebrows  in  a  way  that  made  Katherine 
blush  for  her  uncandid  remark, 

'*  Well,  Mrs.  Needham  seems  to  have  taken  immensely  to  him." 

"  I  can  understand  that.  De  Burgh  has  wherewithal  now  to  re- 
commend him  to  most  party -giving  dowagers." 

"  That  spoach  is  not  like  you,  Mr.  Errington  ;  you  know  my  dear 

food  chief  is  utterly  uninfluenced  by  worldy  considerations.  Lord 
e  Burgh  has  been  very  good  and  helpful  to  me  with  the  boys,  I 
assure  you,"  said  Katherine,  feeling  that  she  changed  color  under 
Errington's  watchful  eves. 

"Yes,  I  have  no  doubt  he  could  be  boundlessly  kind  where  he 
■wishes  to  pleasa— more,  I  think  he  is  a  generous  fellow  ;  but— 1  am 
going  to  be  ill-natured,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  change  of  tone,  "and, 
as  vou  have  allowed  me  the  privilege  of  a  friend,  I  mu.'^t  beg  you  to 
reflect  that  De  Burgh  is  a  man  of  imperious  temper,  givesi  to  st)mo- 
what  reckless  seek'in"-  of  what  he  desires,  and  not  too  steady  in  his 
attachments.  Though  in  every  sense  a  man  of  honor,  an.l  by  no 
moans  without  heart,  yet  I  fear" as  a  companion  he  would  be  disturb- 
ing, if  not " 

"Why  do  vou  warn  me?"  cried  Katherine,  growmg  somewhat 
pale.  "  And  what  has  poor  Lord  de  Burgh  done  to  earn  your  disap- 
probation?" 

"  I  know  I  am  somewhat  Quixotic  and  unguarded  m  speaking 
thus  to  you  ;  but  it  would  be  afiectafion  to  say  I  did  not  perceive  De 
Burgh's  very  natural  motive.  There  is  much  about  him  that  is  at- 
tractive to  women,  apart  from  his  exceptional  fortune  and  position  j 


286  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

but  I  doubt  if  he  could  make  a  woman  like  you  happy.  If  the  ease 
and  luxury  he  could  bestow  ever  prove  tempting-,  I  do  not  think 
that  anything-  except  sincere  affection  would  enable  you  to  ourmouut 
the  difficulty  of  dealing-  with  a  character  like  his." 

While  Errington  spoke  with  quiet  but  impressive  earnestness,  a 
perverse  spirit  entered  into  Katherine  Liddell  Here  was  this  man, 
sailing-  triumphantly  on  the  crest  of  g-ood  fortune,  about  to  ally  him- 
self to  a  woman,  g-bod,  certainly,  and  suited  to  him,  but  also  rich 
eiioiig-h  to  set  him  above  all  care  and  money  troubles,  urging-  coun- 
s*'ls  of  j)erfection  on  her-  Why  was  she  to  be  advised  to  reject  a  man 
who  certainly  loved  her  by  one  who  only  felt  a  temperate  and  conde- 
scending friendship  for  her?  How  could  he  iudg-e  what  amount  of 
intiiience  De  Burgh's  affection  for  herself  might  g-ive  her? 

"  I  ought  to  feel  deeply  grateful  to  you  for  overstepping  the  limits 
of  conventionality  in  order  to  give  me  what  is,  no  doubt,  sound 
advice.'' 

"Do  you  mea%  that  as  a  rebuke?"  asked  Errington,  leaning  a 
little  forward  to  look  into  her  eyes.  "Do  you  not  think  that  a 
friendship,  founded  as  ours  is  on  most  exceptional  and  unconven- 
tional circumstances,  gives  me  a  sort  of  right  to  speak  of  matters 
which  may  prove  of  the  last  importance  to  you?  You  cannot  realize 
how  deeply  interested  I  am  in  your  welfare,  how  ardently  I  desire 
your  happiness  " 

The  sincerity  of  his  tone  thrilled  Katherine  with  pain  and  pleasure. 
It  was  delightful  to  hear  him  speak  thus,  yet  it  would  be  better  for 
her  never  to  hear  his  voice  again. 

"I  daresay  I  am  petulant,"  she  said,  looking  down,  " and  you  are 
generally  right ;  but  don't  you  think  in  this  case  you  are  looking  too 
far  ahead,  and  attributing  motives  to  Lord  de  Burgh  of  which  he 
may  be  entirely  innocent?'' 

"Of  that  you  are  the  best  judge,"  returned  Errington,  coldly; 
atid  silence  fell  upon  them— a  silence  which  Katherine  felt  to  bo  so 
awkward  that  she  rose,  saying, 

"]  must  find  Mrs.  Needham  ;  she  will  wonder  where  lam  ;"  and, 
Erring-ton  making  no  objection,  they  strolled  slowly  towards  the 
front  of  the  hou.se,\vhere  most  of  the  visitors  were  standing  or  sitting 
about. 

'i  here  they  soon  discovered  Mrs.  Needham..  in  lively  conversation 
witli  Tjord  de  Bnrgh,  who  was  a  good  deal  observed  by  those  present 
a;  his  name  and  position  were  well  known  to  almost  all  of  Mrs. 
K.v.;iiham's  set.  He  turned  quickly  to  greet  Katherine,  and  spoke 
nol:  too  cordially  to  Errington,  who  after  some  talk  with  ]\Irs.  Need- 
hatn.  qidetly  withdrew,  and  kept  rather  closely  to  Angela's  side. 

'i'he  rest  of  the  afternoon  was  spoiled  for  Katherine  by  a  sense  of 
irritation  with  Lord  de  Burgh,  who  scarcely  left  her,  thereby 
making  her  so  conspicuous  that  she  could  hardly  aefrainfrom  telling 
him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  De  Burgh,  as  they  walked 
together  behind  Mrs.  Needham  to  the  gate  where  their  "^carriage 
awaited  them  "Do  you  know  you  have  hardly  said  a  civil  word  to 
me— Avhat  have  I  done  ?" 

"You  are  mistaken  !  I  never  meant  to  be  uncivil,  I  am  only 
tired,  and  I  have  rather  a  headache." 


A  CROOKED  PATa  287 

"You  often  have  headaches.  Are  you  sure  the  ache  is  in  vour 
head  ?"  •' 

"No,  I  am  not,"  said Katherine,  fran'.Iy.  "Don't  you  know  what 
it  IS  to  be  out  of  sorts  ?" 

"Don't  I  though?  If  that's  what  ails  you  I  can  understand  vou 
well  enough.  I  wish  you  would  let  me  prescribe  for  you  :  a  nice 
T?"F  ^^'^^i^dering-  through  Switzerland,  over  some  old  passes  into 
Italy  (they  are  more  delicious  than  ever,  now  that  they  are  deserted), 
and  then  a  wmter  m  E,ome." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Katherine,  laug-hing-.  "Perhaps  vou 
might  also  recommend  horse  exercise  on  an  Arab  steed." 

"  Yes,  I  should.     You  would  look  stinming-  in  a  habit." 

"Dreams,  idle  dreams.  Lord  de  Eurgh.  I  shall  be  all  rig-ht  to- 
mori'ow." 

"  I  intend  to  come  and  see  you  if  vou  are,"  ho  returned,  signifi- 
cant ly.  -  ^ 

"To-morrow  I  shall  be  out  all  the  afternoon,"  said  Katherine. 
quickly.  ' 

"  Some  other  day  then,"  he  replied,  with  resolution. 

"  Good-morning-,  Lord  de  Burg-h,  or  rather  gDod  evening-,  for  it  is 
seven  o'clock, "  said  Mrs.  Needham.     "  Charming-  place,  isn't  it  :•"' 

"  Very  nice,  indeed.  I  suppose  I  have  the  freedom  of  the  house 
now,  throuo-h  your  favor  " 

"Certainly  ;  g-ood-bye,  come  and  see  us  .soon." 

"May  I  ?"  he  whi.spered,  as  h  j  handed  Katherine  into  the  carriag-e. 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  h -ad,  looking-  so  sweet  and  arch  that 
De  Burgh  could  not  help  pn  ssing-  her  hand  hard  as  he  muttered 
something-  of  which  she  could  only  catch  the  word  -'  mischief." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ne;idliam,  when  they  had  left  the  villa  behind, 
and  she  had  succeeded  in  wrapping-  a  woollen  scarf  clo.selv  round 
her  throat,  for  the  evening-  had  arown  chill,  "I  kneM- 1  was  i'ig-ht  all 
along-,  and  now  old  Bradley  hnnself  has  as  g:ood  as  told  me  that 
Ang-ela  is  engag-ed  to  Ernngfon." 

"  Indeed  !'  said  tiie  lady,  who  shared  their  conveyance.  "  What 
did  he  say  ?" 

"  He  was  sitting-  with  me  on  the  lawn,  and  Miss  Bradlev  went 
past  between  Errington  and  that  tall  military-looking  man,  who  did 
not  seem  to  know  anyone  ;  so  I  just  rem  irked  what  a  distinguished 
sort  of  person  Mr.  Errington  was,  and  Bradlev,  looking  after  i.i-n 
in  an  exulting  sort  of  way,  said.  -'Distinguished!  1  believe  v.ju 
That  man,  ma-am,"  (you  know  his  style)  "will  be  in  the  front  rani; 
before  long.  I  recognized  his  power  from  the  first,  and,  wli;  s 
more,  so  did  Angela.  I  am  going  to  give  a  proof  of  my  confid  -ueo 
in  him  that  will  astonish  everyone;  you'll  hear  of  it  in  a  week  or 
two."  Now  what  can  that  m(ian  but  that  he  is  going  to  trust  his 
daughter  to  him  ?  You  see,  Errington  is  like  a  son  of  the  hons-. 
I  am  heartily  glad,  for  I  have  reason  to  know  that  he  has  beiVn 
greatly  attached  to  her  a  considerable  time,  and  they  are  admiiubly 
suited." 

"  Well  !  he  is  a  very  lucky  fellow  ;  independent  of  all  the  money 
Bradley  has  made,  this  new  magazine  of  his  is  a  splendid  property." 

And  Katherine,  li.stening  in  silence,  told  herself  that  one  chapter 
of  her  life  was  closed  for  ever. 


288  A  CROOKED  PATH.  ^ 

CHAPTER  XXXn. 

ILL  MET. 

A  NOTE  from  Mrs.  Ormonde  next  morning  informed  Katherine  that 
she  had  returned  to  Castleford,  and  recorded  her  deep  reg-ret  that  she 
could  not  call  before  leaving-  town,  but  that  time  was  too  short,  al- 
thoiig-h  they  had  delayed  their  departure  for  a  couple  of  da^'S. 

''  We  ni3t  Lord  deBurg-h  at  Lady  Mary  Vincent's;  you  can't  think 
what  a  fuss  she  made  about  him.  1  remember  when  she  would  not 
Je  him  inside  her  doors.  He  is  older  and  more  abrupt  than  ever. 
He  told  me  he  was  g-oing-  to  meet  you  at  Mrs.  Needham's,  and  said 
hers  was  the  only  house  in  London  worth  g-oing  to.  I  suspect  there 
is  great  fortune  in  store  for  you,  Katie,  and  no  friend  will  rejoice  at 
it  more  warmly  than  I  shall.  Do  write  and  tell  me  all  about  every- 
thing-; it  is  frightfully  dull  down  here. 

"  Your  ever  attached  sister, 

"Ada." 

Beyond  a  passing  sensation  of  annoyance  that  De  Burgh  should 
make  a  display  of  his  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Needham  and  herself, 
this  epistle  made  no  impression  on  Katherine.  who  was  glad  to  have 
an  unusual  amount  of  work  for  Mrs  Needham,  who  had  started — 
or  rather  promised  her  assistance  in  starting— a  new  scheme  for 
extracting  wax  candle  out  of  peat.  Respecting  this  she  was  immense- 
ly sanguine,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  to  be  properly 
remunerated  for  her  trouble,  and  in  a  year  or  two  would  make  her 
fortune. 

The  day  fiew  past  with  welcome  rapidity,  and  in  the  evening 
Katherine  was  swept  off  to  a  "first-night  representation,"  which, 
though  1  •  no  means  first-rate,  helped  to  draw  Katherine  out  of  her- 
self, and  -jlpcid  her ..  j  vanquish  vain  regrets. 

"  You"ll  make  a  dozen  copies  of  those  notes  please,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Noedham;,  as  she  stood  dre.ssed  to  go  out  after  an  early  luncheon  the 
f  Ilowing  day, "and  I'll  sign  them  when  I  come  in;  then  there  is  the 
notice  of  the' play  for  my  DuUertoova  letter,  and  be  sure  you  send 
those  extracts  from  the  Week-li/  Rer^pw  to  Angela  Bradley.  You 
Jiuow  all  the  rest;  if  I  am  not  home  uy  seven  don't  wait  dinner 
for  me. " 

Katherine  had  scarceh^  settled  to  her  task,  when  the  servant  entered 
to  say  that  Lord  De  Burgh  would  be  glad  to  speak  to  her,  as  he  had 
a  message  from  Mrs  Needham. 

"How  strange!"  murmured  Katherine,  adding  aloud,  "Then 
show  him  in." 

"I  have  just  met  Mrs.  Needham,  and  she  told  me  togiveyou  this," 
said  De  Biirgh,  handing  a  card  to  Katherine  as  soon  as  she  ha[d 
shaken  hands  with  him.  It  was  one  of  her  own  cards,  and  on  ths 
back  wasscribbed. 

•'Pon't  mind  the  notw-" 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  289 

"  How  extraordinary  !"  cried  Katherine.  "  I  thought  they  were  of 
the  last  importance.  What  did  she  say  to  you  ?  you  must  nave  met 
her  directly  she  went  out  !" 

"  I  think  I  did.  I  was  coming"  through  the  narrow  part  of  Kens- 
ington, and  was  stopped  by  a  block;  jusl  caught  sight  of  your  chief, 
and  jumped  out  of  my  cal)  to  have  a  word  with  her.  She  told  me  1 
should  find  you,  and  gave  me  that."  De  Burgh  went  on:  "So  this  is 
the  tremendous  laboratory  where  Mrs.  Needham  forges  her  thunder- 
bolts," looking  round  with  some  curiositv. 

"And  where  /  forge  tn;/  thunderbolts,^'  said  Katherine,  laughing. 

"Thunderbolts  !"  echoed  De  Burgh,  looking  keenly  at  her.  "  No! 
where  you  launch  the  lightning  that  either  withers  or  kindles  life- 
giving  "^flames." 

"Really,  Lord  De  Burgh,  jyou  are  positively  poetical!  I  never 
dreamed  of  your  developing  this  faculty  when  you  tried  to  teach  me 
how  to  drive  at  Castleford." 

"  No !  it  did  not  exist  then— now  I  want  to  tellyou  of  the  cause  of 
its  growth,  vou  have  silenced  me  often  enough.  To-day  1  will  speak, 
Katherine.'*^ 

"  If  you  please,  'm— there's  twopence  to  pay,"  said  the  demure 
Ford,  advancing  with  a  letter. 

Half  amused  and  partly  relieved  by  the  interruption,  Katherine 
sought  for  and  produced  the  requisite  coin,  and  then  took  the  letter 
with  a  look  of  some  anxiety. 

"  It  is  my  own  writing,  ""^  she  said,  "it  is  one  of  the  envelopes  I  left 
with  Cis."  Opening  it  and  glancing  at  the  contents  her  color  rose, 
and  her  bo.som  heaved.     "  On  !  do  look  at  this,"  she  cried. 

De  Burgh  rose  and  read  over  her  shoulder, 

"Deab  Auntie, 

"1  hope  you  are  quite  well.  We  have  had  a  di*eadful  row ! 
Charlie  could  not  say  his  lesson,  so  Mr.Sells  roared  at  him  like  a  bull. 
Charlie  got  into  one  of  his  tits,  you  know,  and  then  he  burst  out 
laughing.  Mr.  Sells  went  into  such  a  rage;  he  laid  hold  t  -him  and 
whippiid  him  all  over,  and  1  ran  to  break  the  «^ane.  I  hit  his  nose 
with  my  head  so  hard  that  the  blood  came.  1  was  glad  to  see  the 
blood;  then  they  locked  us  both  up.  I  have  no  stamp.  Do  come 
and  take  us  away,  do  do  do  ! 

"Your  loving, 

"Ci8." 
"P.S.— If  you  don't  come  we'll  run  away  to  the  gipsies  on  the 
common," 

"The  scoundrel !  I'll  go  and  thrash  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life!** 
cried  De  Burgh,  when  they  had  tinishe(ithis  epistle. 

"J  should  like  to  do  it  myself,"  said  Katherine  in  a  low  fierce 
tone,  starting  up  and  crushing  the  letter  in  an  angry  grij). 

"  By  .Jove  !  I  wish  you  could,  I  fancy  you'd  punish  him  pretty 
severely,"  returned  De  Burgh  admiringly. 

"  I  must  go— go  at  once,"  continued  Katherine,  her  lips  trembling, 
her  lustrous  eyer  tilling.     "Tliink  of  the  tender,  fragile,  sweet  boy— i 


21^0  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

I 
who  is  an  angel  in  nature— beaten  by  a  dog  like  that !  Lord  de 
Buro-h,  I  must  leave  you,  I  must  go  at  once." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  De  Burgh,  standing  between  her  and  the 
door;  "  but  not  alone.    May  I  come  with  vou?" 

Katherine  paused,  and  put  her  hand  to  £ier  head. 

"No,  I  think  you  had  better  not  " 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  like.  Take  Miss  Payne  with  you— she  is 
a  shrewd  woman— and  consult  with  her  what  you  had  better  do. 
Shall  you  remove  the  boys  ?'' 

She  paused  again  before  replying,  looking  rapidl3%  despairingly 
round.  These  changes  had  cost'  her  a  good  deal,  and  she  had  not 
much  to  go  on  with  unless  she  broke  into  the  deposit  which  she 
hoped  to  preserve  intact  for  a  long  time  to  come. 

"Ido  not  know  where  to  put  them,"  she  said,  and  there  was  a 
sound  of  tears  in  her  voice. 

"You  can  do  whatever  you  choose,"  said  De  Burgh,  emphatically, 
"only,  while  you  are  driving  down  to  this  confounded  place,  make 
up  your  mind  what  to  do.  I  wish  you  would  feel  yourself  free  to 
do  anything  or  pa}^  anything.  WJiile  you  ax'e  dressing,  1  will  go 
round,  to  Miss  Payne  and  bring  her  back  with  me;  then  you  must 
take  my  carriage,  it  will  save  time;  and  don't  exagg-erate  the  efFecfs 
of  this  whipping,  a  few  impatient  cuts  with  a  cane  over  his  jacket 
would  not  hurt  him  much." 

'*  Hurt  him,  no;  crush  and  terrify  him,  yes.  It  will  be  months  be- 
fore he  can  forget  it ;  and  I  told  the  head  master  of  Charlie's 
rjculiarlj'-  nervous  temperament— this  man  seems  to  be  an  assistant, 
will  take  your  advice.  Lord  de  Burgh,  and  make  some  plan  with 
Miss  Payne.    I  hope  she  will  be  able  to  come." 

"She  must— she  shall,"  cried  De  Burgh,  impetuously,  and  he 
hastily  left  the  room. 

By  the  time  Katherine  had  put  on  her  out-door  dress,  and  written 
an  explanatory  line  to  Mrs.  Needham,  De  Burgh  returned  with  Miss 
Payne. 

"  You  must  tell  me  all  about  it  as  we  go  along,"  said  that  lady,  as 
Katherine  took  her  place  beside  her,  "and  you  must  do  nothing 
rash." 

.  "  Oh  no,  if  I  can  only  prevent  a  recurrence  of  such  a  scene.  1  am 
most  grateful  to  you  for  your  kind  help,  Lord  de  Burgh.  I  will  let 
you  know  how  tilings  are  settled. " 

"Thank  you.  I  shall  be  glad  of  a  line  ;  but  I  shall  call  to-morrow 
to  hear  a  full  and  true  account.  Now,  what's  the  name  of  the 
place?" 

"  Birch  Grove,  Wandsworth  Common." 

De  Burgh  gave  the  necessary  directions,  and  the  big  black  horse 
tossed  up  nis  nead,  and  dashed  oPF  at  a  swift  trot.  Deep  was  the  dis- 
cussion which  ensued,  and  which  ended  in  deciding  that  they  would 
be  guided  by  circumstances. 

The  arrival  of  Miss  Liddell  was  evidently  most  unexpected.  She 
and  her  companion  were  shown  into  the  guest-parlor,  where,  after  a 
•while,  Mr.  Lockwood,  the  principal,  made  his  appearance. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pbasure,  Miss  Liddell.  May  1  ask  the 
reason  of  your  visit  ?" 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  291 

"Whereupon  Katherine  spoke  more  temperately  than  Miss  Payne 
expected,  describing'  Cecil's  letter,  and  reminding-  him  that  she  Had 
fullv  explained  Charlie's  nervous  weakness,  and  stating-  that,  if  she 
could  not  be  assured  such  treatment  should  not  occur  again,  she 
must  remove  the  boy. 

The  'dominie,'  app;.:  'v  toxiched  by  her  tone,  answered  with 
equal  frankness.  He  haa  ^.en  calk  d  away  by  unavoidable  business 
at  the  beginning'  of  the  term,  a  id  ha<l  forgotten  to  warn  his  assistant 
res}X)ctiiig  Liddell  minor.  Ho  ivgroitcd  the  incident ;  indeed,  he  had 
intended  to  inform  Miss  LiddcU  of  the  unfortunate  occurrence,  but 
extreme  occupation  must  plead  his  excuse.  Miss  Liddell  might  be 
sure  that  it  sliould  never  happen  ag'ain  ;  indeed,  her  nephews  were 
very  promising-  boys— the  young-est  a  little  young  for  his  school,  but 
it  was  all  the  better  for  him  to  be  accustomed  to  a  hig-her  standard. 
He  hoped,  now  that  this  unpleasoUtness  was  over,  all  would  g-o  on 
well. 

"I  hope  so,  Mr.  Lockwood,"  returned  Katherine;  "but  should 
my  nephew  be  ag-ain  punished  for  what  he  cannot  help,  I  shall 
immediately  remove  him  and  his  brother." 

"  So  I  understand,  madam,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  who  was 
Visibly  much  annoyed  by  the  whole  affair.  "  I  presume  you  would 
like  to  see  the  boys?" 

"Yes,  certainly.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  grant  them  a  half- 
holiday  ?" 

This  was  agreed  to,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Cis  and  Charlie  were 
hanging  round  their  aunt. 

"  Oh,  auntie  dear,  have  you  come  to  take  us  away?" 

"No,  dears,  but  I  have  talked  to  Mr.  Lockwood;"  and  she  ex- 
plained the  fact  that  Mr.  Sells  did  not  know  that  Charlie's  laughter 
was  involuntarv. 

The  poor  little  fellow  did  not  complain  of  his  aunt's  decision  ;  he 
just  laid  his  head  on  her  shoulders  and  cried  silently.  This  was 
worse  than  any  other  line  of  conduct.  Cis  d(iclared  his  intention  of 
running  away  forthwith  ;  however,  when  matters  were  laid  before 
him  and  the  jovs  of  a  half-holidav  set  forth,  he  consented  to  try 
'  old  Sells '  a  little  longer,  and  then  Katherine  took  them  back  to 
Wilton  Street,  where  they  spent  a  quiet  happy  afternoon  with  their 
aunt,  to  whom  they  poured  out  their  hearts,  and  were  finally  taken 
back  bv  the  polite  "Francois. 

"You  are  the  kindest  of  much  enduring  employers,"  said  Kath- 
erine, gratefully,  when  she  joined  Mrs.  Needham  at  dinner  "I 
earnestly  hope  mv  sudden  desertion  has  not  inconvenienced  you. 
Now  I  am  ready"^  to  work  far  into  the  night  to    make  up  for  lost 

time."  ,  ,  ,.     T       X  T     J 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  do  that ;  I  changed  my  plans  after  I  met  Lord 
de  Burgh,  and  came  home  to  write  here.  Now  tell  me  all  about 
those  poor  dearaand  that  brute  of  a  master." 

The  excitement  of  this  expedition  over,  Katherine  felt  rather  de- 
pressed and  nervous  the  next  morning.  She  dreaded  Lord  do 
Burgh's  visit,  yet  did  not  absolutely  wish  to  avoid  it.  It  was  due  to 
him  that  the  sort  of  probation  which  he  had  voluntarily  instituted 


292  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

should  come  to  an  end.  She  could  not  allow  herself  to  be  made  con- 
spicuous by  the  constant  attentions  of  a  man  who  was  known  to  be 
about  the  best  match  in  London,  yet  she  was  genuinely  sorry  to  lose 
him— as  a  friend  he  had  been  so  kind  and  thoufj-htful  about  the  boys 
too  !  Well,  she  would  be  frank  and  sympathijtic,  and  soften  her  re- 
fusal as  much  as  possible.  How  she  wished  it  were  over,  she  found 
writing  an  impossible  task,  and  Mrs.  Needham,  noticing  her  rest- 
lessness, observed,  with  a  grave  smile, 

"  I  expect  you  will  have  some  very  good  news  for  me  this  after- 
noon !    1  am  goin^  out  to  luncheon." 

"  No,  dear  Mrs.  Needham,  I  do  not  think  I  shall,"  returned  Kath- 
arine.    "I  fear " 

"Lord  de  Burgh  is  in  the  drawing  room,"  said  the  parlor-maid. 

"Go,  Katherine,"  cried  Mrs.  Needham  ;  "and  don't  tell  me  there 
is  any  doubt  about  your  having  good  news  !  You  deserve  bread 
and  water  for  the  rest  of  your  natural  life  if  you  don't  take  the  goods 
the  gods  provide." 

Katherine  hesitated,  smiled  miserably,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Well,  and  how  did  you  tind  the  poor  little  chap?"  were  De  Burgh's 
first  words.  "There's  nothing  wrong,  I  hope? — you  look  as  white 
as  a  ghost,  and  your  hand  is  quitf'  cold  ;"  placing  his  left  on  it,  as  it 
lay  in  his  grasp.     "  The  boys  are  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  quite  Avell,  and  reconciled  with  some  difficulty  to  remain 
where  they  are,"  she  returned,  disengaging  herself  and  sinking 
rather  than  sitting  down  into  a  corner  of  a  sofa  nearest  her. 

"  Then  what  has  upset  you?  I  suppose,"  softening  his  voice,  "  the 
whole  thing  was  too  much  for  you." 

"I  daresSy  I  excited  myself 'more  than  I  need  have  done,  but  I 
think  my  little  Charlie  is  safe  for  the  future." 

"  Do  you  know  that  it  makes  me  half  mad  to  see  that  look  of  dis- 
tress in  your  eyes,  to  see  the  color  fading  out  of  your  cheeks  !  Kath- 
erine, I'can't  hold  my  tongue  any  longer.  I  thought  I  was  far  gone 
when  I  used  to  count  the  days  between  my  visits  to  Sandbourne  ;  I 
am  a  ^ood  deal  worse  now  that  you  have  let  me  be  a  sort  of  chum  ! 
Life  withotit  you  is  something  I  don't  care  to  face,  I  don't  indeed  ! 
Why  don't  you  make  up  your  mind  to  take  me  for  better  for  worse? 
I'll  try  to  be  all  better  ;  just  think  how  "happy  we  might  be !  Those 
boys  should  have  the  best  training  money  or  care  could  get ;  and, 
Katherine,  I'm  not  a  bad  fellow  !  Now  you  know  me  better,  you  must 
feel  that  I  should  never  be  a  bad  fellow  to  //0!<." 

"  You  are  a  very  good  fellow,  Lord  de  Biirgh,  that  I  quite  believe  ; 
but  (it  pains  me  so  much  to  say  it)  I  really  do  not  love  you  as  I 
ought,  and,  unless  I  do  love  I  dare  not  marry." 

"  Why  not?— that  is,  if  you  don't  love  some  other  fellow.  Will 
you  tell  me  if  ain^  man  stands  in  my  way?" 

"  No,  indeed.  Lord  de  Burgh  ;  who  could  1  love?" 

"That  is  impossible  to  say;  however,  your  word  is  enough.  If 
your  heart  is  free,  why  not  let  me  try  to  win  it?  and  the  opportuni- 
ties afforded  by  matrimony  are  endless  ;  y^u  arc  the  sort  of  woman 
who  would  be  faithful  to  whatever  you  undertook,  and  wh(!n  you 
saw  me  day  by  day  living  for  you,  and  you  onlv,  you'd  grow  to 
love  me !    Just  think  of  the  boys  running  wild  at  f'ont-y  gar  van  in 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  293 

the  holidays,  and By  heaven,  my  head  reels  with  such  a  dream 

of  happiness." 

"I  am  a  wretch,  I  knov/,"  said  Katherine,  the  tears  in  her  eyes, 
her  voice  breaking-;  "but  I  know  myself.  I  am  a  very  lawless 
individual,  and— you  had  better  not  urge  me." 

"  What  is  your"^objection  to  me?  I  "haven't  been  a  saint,  but  I 
have  never  done  anything- 1  am  ashamed  of .  Why  do  you  shrink 
from  life  with  me  ?  Come,  cast  your  doubts  to  the  winds,  and  g-ive 
m.e  your  sweet  self.  There  is  no  one  to  love  you  as  I  do,  and  I 
swear  your  life  shall  be  a  summer  holiday." 

His  words  struck  her  with  sudden  conviction.  It  was  true  there 
was  no  one  to  love  her  as  he  did,  and  what  a  tower  of  refug-e  he 
would  be  to  the  boys  !  Why  should  she  not  think  of  him  ?  He  had 
been  very  true  to  her.  Why  should  she  not  drive  out  the  haunt  ng- 
imag-e  of  the  man  who  did  not  love  her  by  the  living-  presence  of  the 
man  who  did?  But,  if  she  accepted  "him,  she  must  confess  her 
crime  ;  she  could  not  keep  such  an  act  hidden  from  the  man  who 
was  ready  to  give  his  life  to  her.  How  awful  this  would  be  !  And 
he  might  reject  her  ;  then  her  fate  would  be  decided  for  her.  Lord 
de  Burgh  saw  that  she  hesitated,  and  pressed  her  eagerly  for  a 
decision. 

**  You  deserve  so  much  gratitude  for  your  kindness,  vour  faithful- 
ness, that— ah  !  do  let  me  think,"  covering  up  her  face  with  her 
hands.     "  It  is  such  a  tremendous  matter  to  decide." 

*'  Yes,  of  course,  you  shall  think  as  much  as  ever  you  like,"  cried 
De  Burgh,  rapturously,  telling  himself  *'  that  she  who  deliberates  is 
lost."  "Take  your  own  time,  only  don't  say  «o,"  ferociously. 
"  Reflect  on  the  immense  happiness  you  can  bestow,  the  good  you 
can  do.  Why  do  you  shiver,  my  darling  ?  If  you  wish  it,  I'll  go 
now  this  moment,  and  I'll  not  show  my  face  till— till  the  day  after 
to  morrow,  if  you  like.'" 

"The  day  after  to-morrow?  that  is  but  a  short  space  to  decide  so 
momentous  a  question." 

"  If  you  can't  make  up  your  mind  in  twenty -four  hours,  neither 
can  you  in  two  hundred  and  forty.  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you,  but 
you  must  have  some  consideration  for  me ;  imagine  mv  state  of 
inind.  Why,  I'll  be  on  the  rack  till  we  meet  again.  I  fancy  a 
conscientious  woman  is  about  the  cruellest  creature  that  walks ' 
However,  1 11  stick  to  mv  promise :  I  will  not  intrude  on  you  till  the 
day  after  tomorrow.  l''hen  I  will  come  at  eleven  o'clock  for  your 
answer ;  and,  Katherine,  my  love,  my  life,  it  must  be  'yes.'" 

He  took  and  kissed  her  hand  more  than  once,  then  he  went  swiftly 
away. 

The  hours  which  succeeded  were  painfully  agitated.  Katherine 
felt  that  Do  Burgh  had  every  right  to  consider  himself  virtually 
accrpted.  She  liked  him— yes,  certainly  she  liked  him,  and  might 
have  loved  him,  but  for  her  irresistible,  unreasonable,  unmaidcnly 
attachment  to  Errington.  If  she  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  him, 
that  would  till  her  heart  and  relieve  it  from  the  dull  aching"  which 
had  strained  it  so  long  ;  once  a  wife,  she  would  never  give  a  thought 
save  to  her  own  husband,  but,  before  she  reached  the  profound  tvnd 
death-like  peace  of  such  a  position,  she  must  tell  her  story  to  '^ 


294  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

Burgh— and  how  would  he  take  it?  With  all  his  ruggedness,  he 
had  a  keen  and  delicate  sense  of  honor  ;  siill  she  felt  his  passion  for 
her  would  overcome  all  obstacles  for  the  time,  but  how  would  it^'^e 
afterwards,  when  they  had  settled  down  to  the  routine  of  every  ...i,y 
life  ?  It  would  be  a  tremendous  experiment,  but  she  could  not  let 
him  enter  on  that  close  union  in  ignorance  of  the  blot  on  her 
scutcheon,  and  then  the  door  would  be  closed  on  the  earlier  half  of 
her  life,  which  had  been  so  bitter  sweet.  How  little  peace  she  had 
known  since  her  mother's  death !  how  heavenly  sweet  her  life  had 
been  when  she  knew  no  deei^r  cai'e  than  to  shield  that  dear  mother 
from  anxiety  and  trouble  !  and  now  there  was  no  one  belonging  to 
her  on  whose  wisdom  and  strength  she  had  a  right  to  rely.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  it  might  be  better  to  accept  De  Burg'h,  and  end  her  un- 
certainties. Though  by  no  means  given  to  weeping,  Katherine 
could  not  recover  composure  until  after  the  relief  of  a  copious  Hood 
of  tears. 

"Well,  dear !"  cried  Mrs.  Needham,  when  they  were  left  together 
after  dinner,  "  I  am  just  bursting*  with  curiosity.  What  news  have 
you  for  me?  and  what  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself?  You 
look  ghastly,  and  1  positively  believe  you  have  been  crying.  What 
have  you  done?  1  can't  believe  that  you  have  refu.sed  Lord  de 
Burgh— you  couldn't  be  such  a  madwoman!  Why  you  might 
load '^ 

"How  do  you  know  he  gave  mean  opportunity?"  interrupted 
Katherine,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  dear  !''  said  Mrs.  Needham,  severely. 
"  What  would  bring  Lord  de  Burgh  here  day  after  day  but  trying  to 
win  you?  I  have  been  waiting  for  what  I  knew  was  inevitable; 
now,  Katherine,  tell  me,  have  you  rejected  him?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Needham,  I  have  asked  him  for  time  to  reflect." 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction,  "and  only  means 
a  turn  of  the  rack  w-hile  j'ou  can  handle  the  screws  ;  of  course  you'll 
accept  him  when  he  comes  again.  After  all,  though  there  are  plenty 
of  mihappy  marriages,  there  is  no  joy  so  delig-litful  as  reciprocal 
affection.  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  a  creature  so  glorified  by  love  as 
Angela  Bradley  ;  she  told  me  at  Mrs.  Cochrane's  she  had  a  wonder- 
ful piece  of  news  for  me,  and,  when  I  said  perhaps  I  knew  it,  she 
beamed  all  over  and  squeezed  my  hand  as  she  whispered,  "Perhaps 
you  do  !"  1  saw  her  driving  Errington  in  her  pony-carriage  after- 
wards, and  meeting  old  Captain  Everard  just  then ,"^  he  nodded  after 
them  and  said,  'That's  an  excellent  arrangement;  the  wedding,  I 
hear,  is  fixed  for  the  twenty-ninth  of  next  month.'  Now,  I  don't 
quite  believe  that;  Angela  would  certainly  have  told  me,  but  I  am 
sure  it  will  come  off  soon.    I  am  glad  for  both  their  sakes." 

"  I  am  sure  they  will  make  a  very  happy  couple,  and  1  really  be- 
lieve I  shall  follow  their  example." 

"  Quite  right !  The  double  event  will  make  a  sensation,  my  dear 
child :  to  see  you  happily  and  splendidly  settled  will  be  the  greatest 
joy  I  have  known  for  \^'cars,  and  what  will  Colonel  Ormonde  say  ?" 

"  I  neither  knoAv  nor  care  ;  and,  Mrs.  Needham,  if  you  don't  mind. 
I  will  go  to  bed.    I  have  such  a  headache." 

The  fateful  morning  found  Katherine  resolved  and  composed. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  295 

She  would  tell  De  Burgh  everything,  and,  if  her  revelation  did 
not  frighten  him  away,  she  would  try  to  make  him  happv  and  to  be 
happy  liarsalf.  It  would  be  painful  to  tell  hira,  but  oh  !  nothing 
compared  with  the  agony  of  humiliation  it  cost  her  to  prostrate  her- 
self morally  before  Errington.  Still  she  would  be  gla^l  whjn  the 
c  nfcs-sion  was  over;  afterwards,  feelin"*  her  destiny  decided,  she 
woidd  be  calmer  and  more  resignexl.  Resigned?  Avhat  a  t<irm  to 
apply  to  her  acceptance  of  an  honest  man's  hearty  a'lection  ;  for, 
whatever  De  Burgh's  life  may  have  been,  he  had  said  he  had  done 
nothing  he  was  ashamed  of"  By  some  unconscious  impulse  she 
dressed  herself  in  black,  and  went  down  to  the  drawing-room  with 
her  knitting,  that  she  might  be  ready  to  receive  the  man  who,  an 
hour  later,  mig-ht  be  her  affianccxi  husband. 

On  the  stairs  she  met  Ford,  who  informed  her  that  Miss  Trant  was 
waiting  for  her.  ICatherine  felt  glad  of  any  interruption  to  her 
though's,  especially  as  slui  kiiew  that  the  arrival  of  a  visitor  would 
be  the  signal  for  Rachel's  d.'paratre. 

"J  a!n  so  glad  to  see  you,"  exclaimed  Katherine,  "but  how  is  it 
you  have  escap>^'d  so  early  y" 

"1  have  been  to  the  City  to  buy  goods,  and  came  roxnid  hereto 
have  a  peep  at  you,  for  Miss  Payne'told  meyesterday  of  your  trouble 
about  th.'.  boys!" 

"How  early  you  are  !  why,  it  is  scarcely  eleven.  Ye%  fsit  doAvn 
for  a  mom  -nt, )  yes,  1  was  dreadfully  angry  and  u])S3t  ;"aiKl  Kather- 
ine proceded  to  describe  Cecils  letter,  and  her  visit  to  tlie  school. 

"  1  wish  you  could  take  them  away,"  said  Rach  'I,  thoughtfully. 

"  Perhaps,  later  on,  I  may  bo  able,  but  I  do  not  t'link  there  is  any 
chance  that  poor  Charlie  will  be  punished  again.  He  is  never  really 
naughtv,  but  he  has- had  a  great  shock." 

"  So  have  you,  I  imagine,  to  judge  from  your  looks." 

"  Do  1  look  shockedV  And  how  have  you  been  ?  It  is  so  long" 
since  I  WHS  able  to  go  and  see  you." 

"I  have  been,  and  am  very  Well— very  busy,  and  really  succeed- 
ing. 1  have  opened  a  banking  at  count,  and  feel  very  proud  of  my 
chequebook.  Do  you  know  that  Mr.  Newton  has  achanced  me  two 
hundred  pounds i'  Just  now  it  is  worth  a  thousand,  it  lifts  me  over 
the  w  aiting  time.  I  have  sent  in  my  quarter's  accounts,  and  in  a 
month  the  payments  will  begin  to  come  in.  I'll  make  a  good  busi- 
ness yet. " 

"  f  believe  you  will." 

"  What  a  pretty  room  !"  said  Rachel,  looking  round.  "How  nice 
it  is  to  know  you  are  comfortable  ;  by  the  time  vou  are  tired  of 
your  secretaryship,  I  hope  to  have  a  nice  little  sum  laid  by  for  you." 

"  What  a  wonderful  woman  of  business  you  are,  Rachel,"  said 
Katherine,  admiringly. 

"  I  ought  to  be  !  It' is  the  only  thing  left  to  m'^,  and  I  am  thank- 
ful to  sav  I  get  more  and  more^^ — "  she  stopped,  for  the  door  opened 
and  Lord  de  Burgh  was  announced. 


29B  A  CROOKED  PATH.  ^ 

CHAPTER  XXXTTT. 

REPULSION. 

Rachel  started  from  her  seat  and  stood  facing*  the  door.  Her  cheek 
flushed  crimson,  then  grew  deadly  white,  her  lips  parted  as  if  she 
breathed  with  difficulty. 

De  Burgh,  the  moment  his  eyes  fell  on  her,  stopped  as  if  sud- 
denly arrested  by  an  invisible  hand  ;  his  eyes  expressed  horror  and 
surprise,  his  dark  face  grew  darker.  Rachel  quickly  recovered. 
"I  will  call  again,"  she  murmured,  and  passing  him  swiftly,  noise- 
lessly, left  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

Like  a  Hash  of  lightning,  the  meaning  of  this  scene  darted  throu^-h 
Katherine's  brain.  Clasping  her  hands  with  interlaced  fingers,  she 
pressed  them  against  her  breast. 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed  (there  was  infinite  pain  in  that  "ah!") 
"then  ijou  are  the  man?" 

"AVhat  do  you  mean?"  asked  De  Burgh,  in  a  sullen  tone,  his 
thick  brows  almost  meeting  in  a  frown. 

"The  man  she  loved  and  lived  with,"  returned  Katherine,  the 
words  were  low  and  clear. 

"  I  am  !"  he  replied,  defiantly.  Then  a  dreadful  silence  fell  upon 
them. 

Katherine  dropped  into  a  chair,  and,  resting  her  elbows  on  the 
table,  covei'ed  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  My  God  !"  exclaimed  De  Burgh,  advancing  a  step  nearer. 
"  How  does  she  come  here  ?" 

Katherine  could  not  spaak  for  a  moment ;  at  last,  and  still  cover- 
ing her  eyes  and  with  a  low  quick  utterance  as  if  overwhelmed,  she 
said, 

"  I  have  known  her  for  some  time.  I  found  her  dying  of  despair  ! 
I  was  able  to  befriend  her,  to  win  her  back  to  life,  to"  something  like 
hope.  She  told  me  everything,  except  the  name.  We  have  ceasjd 
to  speak  of  the  past!  I  little  Knew,  I  could  not  have  dreamed— I 
never  suspected  ;"  her  voice  brok<!,  and  she  burst  into  tears,  irreois- 
tible  tears  which  she  struggled  vainly  to  repress. 

"  Why  should  you  noi  suspect  me  !"  exclaimed  De  Burgh,  hafshly. 
*'  Did  you  suppose  me  above  or  below  other  men?" 

"  Afi  !  poor  Rachel !  what  a  flood  of  unspeakable  bitterness  must 
have  overwhelmed  her,  to  find  //o?(  here  !" 

De  Buro-h  paced  to  and  fro,  bewildered,  furious,  not  knowing  how 
to  defend  himself  or  what  to  say. 

"lam  the  most  unfortunate  devil  that  ever  breathed!"  he  ex- 
claimed at  last,  pausing  beside  the  table  and  resting  one  hand  on  it. 
"Look  here,  Katherine,  how  can  a  girl  like  you— for,  in  spite  of 
your  mature  airs,  you  are  a  mere  girl— how  can  you  judge  the — 
the  temptations  and  ways  of  a  world  of  which  you  know  nothing- ?" 

"Temptations !"  she  murmured  ,  "did  Rachel  ask  you  to  take  lier 
to  live  with  you  ?" 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  angrily,  "she  is  rather  a  superior  creature,  I 
admit ;  but  I  deny  that  I  ever  deceived  or  deserted  her  !    She  was 


CROOKED  PATH.  297 

perfectly  aware  Lnever  intended  to  marry  her,  and  I  was  awfully 
put  out  when  she  disappeared.  I  did  my  best  to  find  her.  But  the 
fact  is,  when  she  did  ikm'  reappear,  I  not  unnaturally  supposed  she 
had  g-one  ott'with  some  other  man." 

Katherlne  look«)d  upon  hira  suddenly  with  such  trag-ic,  horrified 
eyes  that  De  Burgh  wa.s  startled;  then  she  slightly  raised  her  hands 
with  an  expressive  gesture,  again  covering  her  face. 

"Yes,  yes,"  De  Burj^h  went  on,  impatiently,  "  I  see  you  think  me 
a  brute  for  .euspecting  ner  capable  of  such  a  thing,  but  how  was  I  to 
know  she  was  different  from  others?  It  is  too  infernally  provoking 
that  such  an  affair  should  came  to  your  notice  !  You  are  quite 
unable  to  judge  fairl3^;"  and  he  resumed  his  agitated  walk.  "I 
swear  1  am  no  worse  than  my  neighbors.  Ask  any  woman  of  the 
world,  ask  Mrs.  Needham— they  will  tell  you  I  am  not  an  unpardon- 
able sinner  !  I  will  do  anything-  on  earth  for  Rachel  that  you  think 
right.  Just  remember  her  position  and  mine,  it  was  not  as  if— It  is 
im{)ossible  to  explain  to  you,  but  there  was  no  reason,  had  she  been 
a  little  sensible,  whv  such  an  episode  should  have  spoiled  her  life  ! 
Lots  of  women — "  tie  stopped,  and  with  a  muttered  curse  paused 
opposite  her. 

"And  roH/rf  you  have  been  her  companion  so  lonff,  without  per- 
ceiving the  streng-th  and  pride  and  tenderness  of  tlie  woman  who 
gave  up  all  hoping  to  keep  the  love  you  no  doubt  ardently  express- 
ed?   A n  !  if  you  could  have  seen  her  as  she  was  when  /  found  her!" 

"How  was  I  to  know  sh3  was  staking"  her  gold  against  my  coun- 
ters?" returned  De  Burgh,  obstinately,  though  a  dark  flush  passed 
over  his  face  at  Katherine's  words. 

"  Lord  de  Burgh  !  I  did  not  think  you  could  be  so  cruel,"  cried 
Katherlne,  rising.     "I  will  not  speak  to  you  any  longer  " 

**  Cruel  !"  he  exclaimed,  plat  ing  himself  between  her  and  the  door. 
"How  can  I  be  just  or  generous,  when  this  most  unfortunate  en- 
counter has  put  me  in  such  a  hopeless  position?  Katherlne,  will  you 
lot  this  miserable  mistake  of  the  past  rob  me  of  my  best  hopes,  ray 
most  ardently  cherished  desires " 

"It is  but  two  or  three  years  since  you  spoke  in  the  same  tone, 

f>6siblv  the  same  words,  to  Rachel !  At  least,  knowing  her  as  I  do, 
feel  sure  she  would  have  yielded  to  no  common  amount  of  jiersua- 
sion.  She  was  mad,  weak  to  a  degree  to  listen  to  you  ;  but  she  was 
alone,  and  love  is  so  sweet." 

"  It  is,"  cried  De  Burgh,  passionately.  "  Why  will  you  turn  from 
love  as  true,  as  intense  as  ever  was  offered  to  woman,  merely 
b6cau.se  I  let  myself  fall  into  an  error  but  too  common—" 

"Is  it  not  a  mere  accident  of  our  respective  positions  that  you 
happen  to  seek  me  as  your  uf  ?"  snid  Katherlne,  a  slight  curl  on 
her  lip  ;  "and  how  can  I  feel  sure  that  in  time  you  will  not  weary  of 
me  as  vou  did  of  her  ?" 

"The  cases  are  utterly  unlike.  So  long  as  the  world  lasts,  men 
and  women  too  will  act  as  Rachel  Trant  and  I  did;  Nature  is  too 
strong  for  social  laws  and  religious  maxims." 

"And  you  said  you  had  never  done  anything  to  be  ashamed  of? 

she  exclaimed,  bitterly.  „      „ .,  x  x  •  ^  ».    ..l 

"Nor  have  I!"  .-^aid  De  Burgh,  stouMy,  "if  I  were  tried  by  the 
standard  of  our  world.     How  cJ^.^  you.  know— how  can  you  judge  ?" 


298  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

'*  I  do  not  judg-e,  I  have  no  ri^ht  to  judg-e/'said  Katherine, broken- 
ly. "  I  only  knoAV  that,  when  I  saw  your  eyes  meet  Rachel's  I  felt  a 
great  g-ulf  liad  suddenly  opened  between  us,  a  g-uli  that  cannot  be 
bridged.  1  do  not  understand  and  cannot  judge,  as  you  say,  and  I 
am  sorry  for  you  too;  but  if  life  is  to  be  this  miserable  shuffling  of 
ciiances,  th'siumble  of  injustice,  I  would  rather  die  than  live.  No, 
Lordde  Di  r  h  I  will  go." 

"Good  lloavcns  !  Katherine,  you  are  trembling-;  you  can  hardly 
stand.  I  am  a  brute  to  keep  you;  but  I  cannot  help  clutching"  my 
only  chance  of  happiness.  You  are  an  angel !  Dispose  of  me  as  you 
will ;  but  in  mercy  give  me  some  hope.  I'll  wait  ;  I'll  do  anything. " 

"Oh,  no,  no.  It  is  impossible.  I  am  so  fond  of  her;  and  you  will 
find  many  to  whom  your  past  will  be  nothing;  for  me  it  is  irrevo- 
cable. The  world  seems  intolerable;  let  me  go;"  and  she  burst  into 
such  bitter  sobs  that  her  whole  frame  shook. 

"I  must  not  keep  you  now;  but  I  shall  not  give  you  up.  I  will 
write.  Oh,  Katherine,  you  would  not  destroy  me !"  He  seized  and 
passionately  kissed  her  hand,  which  she  tore  from  him,  and  fled  from 
the  room. 

When  Rachel  Trant  escaped  from  the  presence  of  her  dearest 
friend  and  her  ex-lover,  she  could  scarcely  see  or  stand.  Thankful 
not  to  meet  anyone,  she  hastily  left  the  house,  and.  somewhat 
revived  by  the  air,  she  made  her  way  to  a  secluded  part  of  the  Ken- 
sington Gardens.  Here  she  found  a  seat,  and,  still  palpitating  with 
the  shock  she  had  sustained,  strove  to  reduce  the  chaotic  whirl  of  her 
thoughts  to  something  like  order. 

She  divined  by  instinct  why  De  Burgh  was  at  Mrs.  Needham's. 
She  knew,  how  she  could  not  tell,  that  he  was  seeking  —Uherino  as 
eagerly  as  he  had  sought  herself  ;  but  with  what  a  diflei-ent  object ! 
The  sfo-ht  of  De  Burgh  was  as  the  thrust  of  a  poisoned  dagger 
through  the  delicate  veins  and  articulations  of  her  moral  system. 
To  see  the  dark  face  and  sombre  eves  she  had  loved  so  p  issiouately 
—had  .'—still  loved  !— was  almost  pliysic?!  agony.  It  was  as  if  some 
beloved  form  had  been  brought  back  frcm  another  world,  but  ani- 
mated by  a  spirit  that  knew  her  not,  regarded  her  not  at  all.  Oh, 
the  bitterness  of  such  an  estrangement,  of  this  expulsion  from  the 
paradise  of  warmth  and  tenderness  where  she  had  been  cherished 
for  a  while— a  heavenly  place  which  should  know  her  no  more. 

"I  brought  it  all  upon  mN'^self,"  was  the  sentence  of  her  strong 
stern  sense.  "Losing  self-respect,  what  hold  can  an\^  woman  have 
upon  a  lover? — yet  how  many  men  are  faithful  even  to  death  with- 
out the  legal  tie  !  I  do  not  love  him  now,  but  how  fondly,  how  in- 
tensely I  loved  the  man  I  thought  he  was  !  Oh,  fool,  fool,  fool,  to 
believe  that  I  could  ever  tighten  7n  v  hold  upon  a  man  who  had  gained 
all  he  wished  unconditionally  !    I  liave  des.Tved  all—all." 

Yet  she  had  no  hatred  against  the  real  Dj  Burgh,  neither  had  shr^ 
any  angelic  desire  to  forgive  liim,  or  to  do  him  good  or  convert  him  ; 
w^at  he  was  now,  he  would  ever  be.  He  might  even  make  a  fairly 
good  husband.  The  episode  of  his  connection  with  hersjlf  would  in 
no  way  interfere  with  /lis  moral  Imrmony.  But  he  was  not  worthy 
of  Katherine  5  no  iinbx'eakabie  tie  would  make  him  more  constant ; 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  299 

and,  thoug-h  his  faithlessness  could  not  touch  her  social  position,  he 
mig'ht  crush  her  heart  all  the  same.  Eachel  was  far  too  human,  too 
passionate,  not  to  shrink  with  unutt,«rable  pain  from  the  idea  of  this 
man's  entrancing  lov'e  being  lavished  on  another,  yet  her  true, 
devoted  afi'ection  for  her  benefactress  remained  untouched.  Kath- 
erine  stood  before  everything-.  Rachel  did  not  wish  to  injure  De 
Burg-h — her  heart  had  simpl^'^  grown  strong,  and  she  would  not 
hesitate  for  a  moment  to  save  Katherine  from  troublft  at  any  cost  to 
him. 

What  then  should  she  do  ?— continue  to  withold  the  name  of  the 
man  of  whom  she  had  so  often  spolvcn,  or  let  Katherine  know  the 
whole  truth  and  jud^-e  for  herself.''  If  she  decided  on  the  latter,  it 
would  break  up  her  friendship  with  Katherine,  and  De  Burgh  would 
attribute  her  action  to  revenge.  Should  that  deter  her?  No  ;  so 
long  as  she  was  sure  of  herself,  what  were  opinions  to  her?  The  one 
thing  in  life  to  which  she  clung  now  was  Katherine's  affection  and 
esteem  ;  for  her  she  would  sacrifice  much,  but  she  would  not  flatter 
her  into  a  fo(;I's  paradise  of  trust  and  wedded  love  with  De  Burgh  by 
concealing'  an  v  thing,  neither  would  she  counsel  her  a^^ainst  the 
desperate  ex iwriment,  should  she  be  inclined  to  risk  it.  He  might 
be  a  very  difie:ent  man  to  a  wife. 

A  certain  amount  of  composure  came  to  her  -ffiith  decision,  though 
a  second  death  seemed  to  have  laid  its  icy  hand\ipon  her  heart ;  she 
rose  and  made  her  way  towards  her  own  abode,  determining  to  await 
a  visit  or  some  comniunication  from  Kathei'ine  before  she  touched 
the  poisoned  tract  which  lay  between  them. 

Rachel  had  scarcely  reached  the  Broad  Walk  when  she  was  accosted 
by  a  little  girl,  who  ran  towards  her,  calling  loudly, 

"  Miss  Trant,  Miss  Trant,  don't  you  know  me?" 

She  was  a  slight,  willowy  creature  with  black  eyes,  profuse  dark 
hair,  and  sallow  complexion.  Her  dress  was  costly,  though  simple, 
and  she  was  followed  at  a  more  sober  pace  by  a  lady -like  but  foreign- 
looking  girl,  apparentlv  her  governess. 

"Well,  Miss 'Liddell,  are  vou  taking  a  morning  walk?"  asked 
Rachel,  as  the  child  took  her  hand. 

"I  am  going  to  see  papa.  I  am  to  have  dinner  with  him.  He 
has  a  bad  cold,  and  he  sent  for  me." 

"  Then  you  must  cheer  him  up,  and  tell  him  what  you  have  been 
learning.' 

"  I  haven't  learnt  much  yet ;  it  is  so  tiresome." 

"Come,  Mademoiselle  Marie,  you  must  not  tease  Miss  Trant,"  said 
the  foreign-looking  lady,  whom  Rachel  reco^-nized  as  one  of  the 
governesses  who  sometimes  escorted  George  Liddell's  daughter  "  to 
be  tried  on." 

"She  does  not  tease  me,"  returned  Rachel,  who  had  rather  taken 
a  fancv  to  the  child. 

"  Won't  you  come  and  see  papn  with  me?"  continued  the  little 
heiress.  "I  wish  you  would,  a  d  he  will  tell  you  to  make  me 
another  pretty  frock— 1  love  pretty  nocks." 

"  Not  to-day  ;  I  must  go  home  and  make  frocks  for  other  people." 

"Then  I  will  bring  him  to  see  you— I  will,  I  will ;  he  does  what- 
ever I  like.  Good-bye,"  springing  up  to  kiss  her.  "  I  may  como 
and  see  you  soon?" 


300  A  CROOKED   PATH, 

"Whenever  yoTi  liVe,  my  dear,"  said  Rachel,  feeling  strangely- 
comforted  by  the  chiltrs  warm  kisses  ;  and  they  parted,  going-  in 
dittVreiit  directio-.s,  to  meet  attain  soon. 

Mrs.  Needhaiii  ha;l  been  sorely  tried  on  that  fatal  day  when  De 
Burg-h  had  suddenly  d.-parted,  atter  a  conipaiHtivcly  siiort  interval, 
and  Kath.n-ine  had  dit«ippjared  into  the  depths  of  her  own  room. 

She  had  anticipated  entertaining-  the  brideg-room-elect  at  luncheon, 
and  had  ordered  lohster-cream  and  an  epigramnw  ii\t(tneiiu  a  la  Hiissi- 
as  suitable  delicacies;  she  expected  contidential  consultation  and 
delightful  plans  ;  she  had  even  speculated  on  so  managing-  that  the 
double  event  .-—Angela  Bradley's  marriag-e  with  Erring-ton  and 
Katherine's  with  Lord  de  Burgh,— might  come  off  on  the  same  day. 
even  in  the  same  church:  that  would  be  a  cuhnination  of  excite- 
ment !  Now  some  mysterious  blight  had  fallen  on  all  her  schemes. 
What  had  happened;*  What  could  the\'  have  quarrelled  about? 
Then  when  Katherine  emerg-ed  from  her  reuig-e  she  was  hopck'ssly 
mysterious ;  there  was  no  penetrating-  the  reserve  in  which  slie 
wrapped  herself. 

"There  is  no  one  iii  whom  T  should  more  readily  confide  than  in 
you,  dear  Mrs.  Needham,  but  a  serious  di;Verence  has  arii^oi  be- 
tween Lord  de  Burg-h  and  mys.'lf,  i-espectiiig  which  I  cannot  speak 
to  aniione.     I  regret  being  oljlig-ed  to  keep  it  to  myself,  but  I  must." 

"  My  dear,  if  you  adopt  that  t  jnr  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  but 
it  is  horribly  provoking  and  disajipointing-.  I  am  quite  sure  jxiople 
began  to  expect  it — that  you  woiikl  marry  Lo  d  de  .Burgh,  I  meaii, 
and  what  a  position  you  have  thrown  away.  You  can't  expect  a 
manlike  him  to  be  a  saint.  There  is  no  use  trying-  men  by  our 
standard ;  in  short,  its  not  much  matter  what  standard  we  have, 
we  must  always  come  down  a  step  or  two  if  we  mean  to  make  both 
ends  meet ;  but  j-ou  see,  when  a  man  has  money  and  right  princi- 
ples, he  can  atone  for  a  lot." 

Katherine  gazed  at  her  astonished.  How  w^as  it  that  she  had 
foimd  the  scent  which  led  so  near  the  real  track;-' 

'•No  money,'' she  said,  gravely,  "'coukl  in  any  way  affect  the 
matters  in  dispute  between  Lord  de  Bmgh  and  myself,  so  1  will  not 
speak  any  more  on  the  sul)ject.  It  has  all  been  very  painful,  and 
the  worst  part  is  that  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"Well,  it  must  be  bad."'  observexl  Mrs.  Needham,  in  a  complain- 
ing tone,  "  but  I  suppo.se  I  must  just  hold  my  tongue." 

So  Katherine  w  as  left  in  compai  ative  peace.  But  it  was  a  hard 
passage  to  her  ;  she  could  not  siiake  oft'  the  sickening-  sense  of  wrong 
and  sorrow,  the  painful  consciousness  of  being  humiliated  which  the 
revelation  inflicted  on  her,  the  feeling  that  she  was,  in  some  inex- 
plicable way,  touched  by  the  evil  doing  of  tho.se  who  Avere  so  near 
her. 

A  slight  cold,  caught  she  knew  not  how,  aggravated  the  fever 
induced  by  distress  of  mind,  a-  d  next  day  Mrs.  Needham  thought 
her  so  unwell  that  she  insisted  on  .sending  for  the  doctor,  w  ho  con- 
demned Katherine  to  her  b.  d,  a  composing  draught,  and  .solitude. 

The  doctor,  however,  could  not  forbid  letters,  and  Katherine's 
seclusion  was  much  disturbed  by  a  lon^,  rambling,  impassioned 
epistle  from  De  Burgh,  in  which, "though  he  promised  not  to  intrude 


A  CROOKED  PATa  301 

upon  her  at  present,  he  refused  to  give  up  all  hope,  as  he  could  nnt. 
believe  that  she  would  always  maintain  her  present  exaggeraiTd 
and  unreasonable  frame  of  mind— a  letter  that  did  him  no  good  in 
Katherine's  estimation.  Then  she  tried  to  resume  her  work.  But 
Mrs.  Needham,  returningfrora  one  of  her  "rapid  acts  "  of  inspection 
and  negotiation  in  and  out  divers  and  sundry  warehouses,  dismissed 
her  peremptorily  to  lie  down  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room,  in 
reality  to  get  her  out  of  the  way,  as  she  was  expecting  a  visit  from 
Miss  Payne,  with  whom  she  wanted  a  little  priva*^e  conversation. 

"  Can  you  throw  any  light  on  this  mysterious  quarrel  between 
Katherine  and  Lord  de  Burgh?"  she  asked,  abruptly,  as  soon  as 
Miss  Payne  Avas  seated  in  the  study. 

"  Quarrel  ?  have  they  quarrelled  ?  I  knoAV  nothing  about  it.  When 
did  they  quarrel  ?" 

"About  three  days  ago.  He  came  here  to  propose  for  hor,  I  know 
he  did,  they  were  talkingtogether  for— oh  !— barely  a  quartor-of-an- 
hour  in  the  drawing-room,  when  I  heard  her  fly  uj)  st.'Mrs,  and  he 
rushed  away,  slamming  the  door  as  if  he  would  take  the  front  of  the 
housa  out.  "  Katharine  has  never  been  hei-self  since.  It  is  my  lirm 
belief  she  is  strongly  attach.id  to  him,— Avhat  do  you  think?"  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  ;  they  were  very  good  friends,  but  I 
do  not  think  Katherine  was  in  love  with  him.  She  is  a  curioxis  girl. 
I  often  am  tempted  to  fanc\'  she  has  something  on  her  mind." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  Miss  Payne.  I  never  met  a  finer,  truer  na- 
ture than  Katherine  Liddell's,"  cried  Mrs.  Needham,  an  a'tcctionate 
smile  lighting  up  her  handsome,  kindly  face.  "  The  worst  of  it  is, 
I  do  not  know  whom  to  blame,  and  Katherine  has  put  ma  on  honor 
not  to  ask  her." 

"  I  cannot  help  you,"  said  Miss  Payne ;  and  she  fv'll  into  a 
thoi^htful  silence,  while  Mrs.  Needham  Avatched  hereag(uTy. 

"lam  going  aAvay  for  a  fcAv  AA'eeks,"  resinned  Miss  I'ayne.  "I 
haA'e  let  my  house,  'and  I  shall  go  to  Sandbourne  ;  the  weather 
seems  settled,  and  it  will  be  pleasant  there.  If  you  can  spare  her,  I 
will  ask  Katherine  to  come  with  me,  she  liked  the  place,  and  pn-- 
haps  in  the  intimacy  of  eA'ery-day  life  she  may  tell  me  what  hap- 
pened ;  but,  remember,  I'll  not  tell  you  unless  she  gives  me  lea\'e." 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not ;  but  I  am  sure  she  Avould  trust  me  as 
soon  as  anvone.' 

"  Very  likely.  It  Avill  just  depend  upon  who  is  near  her  when  she 
is  in  a  confidential  mood." 

"Perhaps.  I  am  sure  it  would  do  her  good  ;  and  Sandbourne  is 
not  far.  If  De  Burgh  wants  to  make  it  up,  he  can  easily  run  doAvn 
there  " 

"  Yes,  he  knows  his  way.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  is  the  right  man, 
though,"  said  Miss  Payne,  reUectiA^ely  ;  "he  is  too  ready  to  ride 
rouoli-shod  over  CA-erybne  and  everything." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  I  must  say  I  thought  him  a  delightful  person, 
so  natural  and  good-natured."  . 

"  Well,  let  me  go  and  see  Katherine.  lam  anxious  to  take  her 
away  Avith  me."  ,,.     ^ 

Katherine  was  most  willing  to  accept  Miss  Payne's  proposition. 
She  was  soothed  and  gratified  by  the  thoughtful  kindness  shown  her 


302  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

by  both  her  friends,  and  anxious  to  refresh  her  mind  and  recruit  her 
Btreno^th  before  taking-  up  her  life  again. 

"  You  are  so  g-ood  to  think  of  takinij  me  with  you,"  she  cried, 
when  Miss  Payne  ceased  speaking-.  "1  should  like  greatly  to  go,  if 
Mrs.  Needham  can  spare  me." 

"  Of  course  I  can.  You  will  come  back  a  better  secretary  than 
ever,"  exclaimed  that  lady,  cheerfully.  "I  will  try  to  run  dowr 
and  sj,3  you  some  Saturday.  It  is  rather  a  new  place,  this  Sand- 
bourne,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  not  crowded  yet." 

"When  do  you  go  down  there?" 

"On  Saturday  afternoon,"  returned  Miss  Pavne.  "I  have  taken 
rooms  at  Marine  Cottage  ;  you  know,  it  is  at  the  end  of  the  parade, 
near  an  old  house." 

*'  Yes,  quite  well ;  it  is  a  nice  little  place." 

"I  will  write  to  secure  another  bed-room  ;  and  let  us  meet  at  the 
station  on  Saturday.  I  go  by  the  2.50  train."  A  few  more  prelim- 
inaries and  the  affair  was  settled. 

Previous  to  leaving  town,  however,  Katherine  felt  she  must  see 
Racliel  Trant,  though  she  half  dreaded  meetino^  her.  It  must  have 
been  an  awful  blow  to  meet  De  Burgh  as  she  did.  Would  she  divine 
what  brought  him  there?  Katherine  felt  she  had  been  cold  and  re- 
miss in  having  kept  si'ence  towards  her  friend  so  long,  and,  when 
Miss  Payne  left,  she  walked  with  her  across  the  park  to  Rachel's 
abode,  in  spite  of  Mi's.  N(iedham's  assurances  that  it  would  be  too 
much  for  her,  and  retard  the  recovery  of  her  nervous  forces,  etc., 
etc. 

Katherine  was  not  kept  long  waiting  in  the  neat  little  back  parlor, 
which  was  Miss  Trant's  private  room.  Rachel  came  to  her  looking 
very  white,  while  she  breathed  quickly.  She  paused  just  within  the 
door,  in  a  hesitating,  uncertain  way,  which  seemed  to  Katherine 
very  pathetic. 

"On  !  Rachel,"  she  cried,  her  soft  brown  eyes  suffused  with  tears 
as  she  tenderly  kissed  her  brow,  "  I  know  everything,  and— I  will 
never  see  him  again." 

"He  is  not  all  bad,"  said  Rachel,  in  a  low  tone,  as  she  clasped 
Katherine's  hand  in  both  her  own. 

"  No,  I  am  sure  he  is  not ;  but  he  has  passed  out  of  our  lives  ;  let 
us  .speak  of  him  no  more." 

"I  should  be  glad  not  to  do  so  ;  but  he  has  written  me  a  letter  I 
sho  Id  like  you  to  see.  He  seems  grieved  for  the  past  and  makes 
munificent  offers." 

"I  should  rather  not  see  it,  Rachel.  I  want  to  forget.  Did  you 
reply  ?" 

"I  did,  very  gravely,  very  shortly.  I  told  him  I  wanted  nothing, 
that  the  best  friend  I  ever'^had  had  put  me  in  the  way  perhaps  to 
make  my  fortune,  and— and,  dearest  Miss  Liddell,  if  you  care 
for " 

"But  I  do  not,  I  did  not,"  Interrupted  Katherine.  "Oh!  thank 
God  I  do  not.  How  could  I  have  borne  what  has  come  to  my  know- 
ledge if  I  lid?    Now,  let  the  past  bury  its  dead." 

"  Is  it  aot  amazing  that  we  sliould  be  so  strangely  linked  to- 
gether?" murmured  Rachel. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  303 

Katherine  made  no  reply.  After  a  short  silence,  "as  if  tliey  stood 
by  a  still  open  g-rave,  Katherine  began  to  speak  of  her  intended  visit 
to  Miss  Payne,  and  before  they  parted,  though  both  were  hushad  and 
grave,  they  had  glided  into  their  usual  confidential,  affectionate  tone. 
Business,  however,  was  not  mentioned. 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  your  cousin's  little  daughter,"  said  Rachel, 
rather  abruptly,  as  Katherine  rose  to  bid  her  good-bye.  "  She's  an 
interesting,  naughty  little  creature,  small  of  her  age,  but  in  some 
ways  precocious.  T  am  fond  of  her,  partly,  I  suppose,  becaxise  slia 
likes  me.  There  is  somcithing  familiar  to  me  in  her  face,  yet  I  can- 
not say  that  she  actually  resembles  anyone." 

"I  should  like  to  see  her,"  returned  leather  ine ;  and  soon  after  she 
left  her  friend,  relieved  and  calmed  by  the  feeling  that  the  explana- 
tion Avas  over. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Needham,  when  they  met  at  dinner. 
"I  have  a  great  piece  of  news  for  you  :  Mr.  Errington  is  to  be  the 
new  editor  of  The  Cifcle.  A  capital  thing  for  him  !  and  that  accounts 
for  the  announcement  of  the  marriage  being-  held  back,  just  to  let 
people  get  accustomed  to  the  first  start.  It  shows  what  Bradley 
thinks  of  him.  It  is  really  a  grand  triumph  to  get  such  an  appoint- 
ment after  so  short  an  aiprenticeship." 

"lam  glad  of  it,  very  glad,"  returned  Katherine,  thoughtfully. 
"I  suppose  he  is  considered  very  clever." 

"  A"tirst-rate  man,  quite  first-rate,  for  all  serious  tough  subjects. 
I  think,  dear,  if  I  could  riSi  down  on  Saturday  week  till  Monday  it 
would  be  an  immense  refreshment ;"  and  Mrs.  Needham  wandered 
off  into  the  discussion  nf  a  variety  of  schemes. 

On  the  Saturday  following",  Katherine  and  her  faithful  chaperon 
set  out  for  their  holiday  with  mutual  satisfaction  and  a  hope  that 
they  left  their  troubles  behind  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

RECONCILIATION. . 

The  change  to  Sandbourne  did  Katherine  good  ;  she  grew  calmer, 
more  resigned,  thouo-h  still  profoundly  sad.  The  sense  of  having 
been  brought  in  toucii  with  one  of  the  most  cruel  problems  of  society 
affected  her  deeply,  and  the  contrast  betwi'en  the  pres;'nt  and  j^nst  of 
a  year  ago,  when  she  had  the  boys  with  her,  forced  lijr  to  re- 
view her  mental  conditions  since  the  great  change  in  her  fortunes 
wrought  by  her  own  act. 

She  had  ample  time  for  thought.  Miss  Payne  was  suffering  from 
touches  of  rheumatism,  which  made  long  walks  impossible ;  so 
Katherine  wandered  about  alone. 

The  weather  was  bright,  buf,  although  it  was  the  beginning  of 
May,  not  warm  enou';-h  to  sit  amongst  the  rocks  at  the  point. 
Katherine,  however,  often  wal'vcd  to  and  fro  recalling  De  Burgh's 
looks  and  tones  the  day  he  had  oiK'ned  his  heart  to  her  there.  He 
was  not  a  bad  fellow— no,  far  from  it ;  indeed,  she  kncAv  that,  if  her 


304  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

heart  had  not  been  filled  Avith  Erring-ton,  she  could  have  loved  De 
Burfrh.  How  was  it  that  a  man  of  feeling",  of  so-called  honor,  with 
a  certain  deg'ree  of  discrimination  between  right  and  wrong-,  could 
have  brokc!n  the  moral  law  and  been  so  callous  as  he  had  shown 
himsvilf  ? 

There  was  no  use  in  thinking-  about  it ;  it  was  beyond  her  com- 
prehension. All  she  ho{x,'d  was  that  time  might  efface  the  cruel 
lines  which  sorrow  and  remorse  had  cut  deep  into  Rachel's  heart. 

With  Miss  Payne,  Katherine  was  cheerful  and  companionable. 
They  spoke  much  of  Bertie.  His  decision  to  take  orders  would 
have  g-iven  his  sister  unqualified  satisfaction  had  he  also  sought  pre- 
ferment in  England. 

"  A  clergyman's  position  is  excellent,"  she  said,  confidentially,  as 
they  sat  together  in  the  drawing-room  window  one  blustery  after- 
noon, when  Katherine  was  not  tempted  to  go  out.  "Bertie  is  just 
the  stutt"to  make  a  popular  preacher  of,  and  so  long  as  he  is  pro- 
perly ordained  1  don't  care  how  he  preaches,  but  I  don't  like  him  to 
be  classed  with  ranting,  roaring  vagabonds  !  Then,  you  see,  there 
are  no  men  ^ho  have  such  opportunities  as  cler"-ymen  of  picking  up 
well-dowercd  wives.  I  believe  women  are  ready  to  projxise  them- 
seh'es  rather  than  not  catch  what  some  of  them  are  pleased  to  term 
"a  priest."  It's  a  weakness  I  never  could  und'^rstand.  What  in- 
duces him  to  run  off  among  the  heathen? — can't  he  find  heathen 
enough  at  home  .-•  If  he  gets  into  these  outlandish  places,  I  shall 
never  sje  him  again,  and,  between  you  and  me,  he  is  the  only  crea- 
ture I  care  for.  He  thinks  he  is  inspired  by  the  love  of  God,  but  I 
know  he  is  driven  by  the  love  of  .yoi«." 

"  Of  me.  Miss  Payne?"  exclaimed  Katherine,  startled  and  greatly 
j^'ined. 

'-Yiis,  3'ou ;  and  I  wish  you  could  see  your  way  to  marry  him. 
(it  VTOuld  be  no  great  match  for  either  of  you,  but  he  would  be 
another  and  a  happier  man  ;  and,  as  for  you,  your  rejection  of  Lord 
de  Burgh  (I  supjxjse  you  did  refuse  him)  shows  you  do  not  care  for 
riches.' 

"But,  Miss  Payne,  I  have  no  right  to  think  your  brother  ever 
wished  to  marry  me.' 

"  TheTi  you  must  be  very  dull.  I  wonder  he  has  not  written  be- 
fore.    Oh,  here  is  the  postman  !" 

Katherine  stepped  through  the  window  and  took  the  letters  from 
him. 

''Only  one  for  you  and  two  for  me,'  she  said,  returning.  "One, 
I  see,  is"^  from  Ada."    Opening  it,  she  read  as  follows : 

"  DEAPa  ST  Katherine, 

"I  write  in  great  anxiety  and  surprise,  as  I  see  among  the 
fashionalile  intelligence  of  the  Morning  Post  that  Lord  de  Burgh  is 
on  the  poi)it  of  leaving  England  for  a  tour  in  the  Ural  ^lountains 
(of  all  places  !)  and  will  prol)a!:!y  be  absent  for  several  months.  Can 
tliis  be  true?  and,  if  so,  what  is  the  reason  of  it?  Is  it  possible  that 
you  have  been  so  cruel,  so  insane,  so  wicked  as  to  fly  in  the  face  of 
providence  and  refuse  him?     You  should  remember   your  own 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  305 

poverty-stricken  existence,  and  think  of  the  boys.  Marriage  with 
a  man  of  De  Bur^-li's  rank  and  fortune  an  ould^  be  the  making  of 
them.  I  have  hidclea  away  Uie  papsr,  for,  if  tha  colonel  saw  it,  it 
would  drive  him  frantic.  Do  write  and  let  me  mediate  between  you 
and  De  Bui'g-h,  if  you  are  so  mad  as  to  have  quan-elled  with  him.  I 
am  feeling-  quite  ill  with  all  this  excitement  and  worry.  I  don't 
think  many  women  have  been  so  sorely  tried  as  myself.  Ever  yours, 

"Ada  Ormonde." 

Having"  glanced  through  this  composition,  she  handed  it  with  a 
smile  to  Miss  Pa.vne,  and  opened  the  other  letter,  which  was  from 
liachel.    This  was  very  short  and  very  mysterious. 

"  I  have  been  introduced  to  your  relative,  Mr.  George  Liddell," 
sh3  wrote,  "  by  his  daughter.  We  have  had  a  conversation  i-esp^ct- 
ing  you  and  other  matters.  I  cannot  go  into  this  now— I  only  write 
to  miy  that  Mr.  Liddell  is  going  down  to  see  you  to-morrow  or  next 
day,  and  I  earnestly  trust  you  may  be  reconciled.  I  am  always 
your  devoted  Rachio.. 

"This  is  very  extraordinary,"  cried  Katherine,  when  sh(!  had 
read  it  aloud.  "What  can  she  mean  by  sending  him  down  here! 
1  rather  dread  seeing  iiim." 

"Nonsense,"  returned  j\Iiss  Payne,  sternly.  "  If  that  dressmaking 
friend  of  yours  brings  about  a  reconciliation  b;',tween  you  and  your 
very  wrong-headed  cousin,  she  will  do  a  good  deed.  I  anticipate 
some  imp>Mtant  results  from  this  interview— you  must  see  Mr. 
Liddell  alone.'' 

•'  1  suppos:;  so.    I  am  sure  I  hope  he  will  not  snap  my  head  off." 

"  You  are  not  the  sort  of  girl  to  allow  pj()].!e  to  snap  your  head  off. 
But  I  am  immensely  puzzled  to  imagine  what  Miss  Trant  can  have 
said  or  done  to  s.'ud  this  bushranger  down  here.  How  did  Mr. 
Liddell  come  to  know  her?" 

"  I  can  only  siippose  that  his  little  girl,  to  whom  I  believe  he  is  de- 
vot.'d,  broug'ht  him  to  Rachel's  to  get  a  dress  tried  on  or  to  choose 
one." 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  observed  Miss  Payne,  thoughtfully.  "My  letter," 
she  went  on,  after  a  m om^jnt's  pause,  "  is  fro'.n  my  new  te  ant  ;  he 
wants  some  atlditional  furniture,  which  is  just  nonsense,  lie  has  as 
much  as  is  good  for  liim  ;  I'll  write  and  say  I  shall  be  in  town  on 
Monday,  and  call  at  Wilton  Street  to  discuss  matters." 

"  A  rr  you  going  to  town  on  Monday  ?" 

"  Yes.  1  made  up  my  mind  when  I  read  this,"  tapping  the  letter. 

"  I  suppose  yoti  don't  object  to  be  left  alone  ?  And  there  is  the 
chance  of  Mrs.  Needham  coming  down  ;  probably  she  will  stay  over 
Monday." 

"  1  fear  that  is  not  very  likely." 

No  n;ore  was  said  on  th-^'.  subjcict  then,  but  Katherine  could  not  get 
her  mind  fi-ee  from  the  idea  of  George  Liddeli's  anticipated  visit. 
She  was  quite  willing  to  make  friends  Avith  him,  though  his  uu- 

f onerous  and  unreasonable  conduct  tovvai'ds  hers;.li  had  impressed 
er  most  unfavorably. 


306  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

The  day  passed  over,  however,  without  any  visitor,  nor  was  it  un- 
til th;-  following  afternoon  that  Kathttrine  was  startled,  in  spite  of 
her  irv-paration,  by  the  announcement  that  a  gentleman  wished  to 
see  iiiss  Liddcll. 

"  I'll  go,"  exclaimed  Miss  Payne,  gathering  up  her  knitting-  and  a 
book,  and  she  vanished  swiftly  in  sjjite  of  rheumatic  difficulties. 

In  another  moment  George  Liddeil  stood  before  his  dis]X)ssessed 
kinswoman,  a  tall,  gaunt  figure  with  grizzled  hair  and  sunken  eyes. 
He  too'.;  the  hand  she  oft'ered  in  silence,  and  then  exclaimed,  abruptly, 

"  You  knew  1  was  coming  ?" 

"  Yes,  Rachel  Trant  tokl  me.     Will  you  not  sit  down?" 

He  drew  a  chair  beside  her  work-table,  and  looking  at  her  for  a 
minute  exclaimed,  in  harsh  tones  which  yet  showed  emotion, 

"  You  are  a  good  woman  !" 

"How  have  you  found  that  out?"  asked  Katherine,  smiling. 

"1  will  answer  by  a  long,  cruel  story  !"  he  returned  with  a  sigh  ; 
"a  story  1  would  tell  to  none  but  you."  Again  he  paused,  looking 
down  as  if  collecting  hi.s  thoughts^  while  the  brown,  bony,  sinewy 
hand  he  laid  on  the  table  was  tightly  clenched.  "Y'ou'knew  my 
father,"  he  began,  suddenh'  raising  his  dark  suspicious  eyes  to  her, 
"  and  therefore  can  understand  what  an  exacting  tyrant  he  could  be 
to  those  who  were  in  his  power.  As  a  mere  child  I  feared  him  and 
shrank  from  him  ;  my  earliest  recollection  was  of  my  mother's  care 
in  kee-i  ii:g  me  from  him.  He  was  not  violent  to  her— I  don't  supj/Ofce 
he  ever  struck  her,  but  he  treated  her  with  cold  cont  mpt,  ^^hy,  I 
never  understood,  except  that  she  tost  him  inonev,  and  brought  Ijim 
none.  I  won't  unman  my.self  by  describing  what  her  lie  was,  r 
how  passionately  I  loved  her  ,  we  clung  to  each  other  as  desolate, 
persecuted  creatures  only  do '  He  grudged  us  the  food  we  ate,  thi 
clothes— rather  the  rags— we  Avore.  One  day  playing  in  Eeg.nts 
Park  I  fell  into  the  canal,  and  was  nearly  drowned.  A  gentleman 
went  in  after  me  and  saved  me.  He  took  me  home,  he  g'ave  me  to 
my  mother,  he  often  met  us  after.  He  gave  me  treats  and  momn-, 
— ^i  can't  dwell  on  this  time.  He  won  my  mother's  love,  chietly 
through  me.  He  was  going  away  to  the  new  world.  He  pv^rsuaded 
her  to  leave  her  wretclied  home,  to  take  me,— we  escaped.  J  ,sl.a!i 
never  forget  the  joy  of  those  few  days  I  Then  my  father  (as  we 
might  have  known  lie  would)  put  out  liis  torturing  hand  and  seized 
till.  My  mother  had  hofx'd  that  his  miserly  nature  would  have  dis- 
posed him  to  let  me  go,'if  he  coukl  thereby  escape  the  cost  of  ray 
mainun  Uice.  But  i-evenge  was  too  sweet  to  be  for,  gn.e.  I  wiis 
draggcu  away.  He  did  not  want  /^  r  back.  He  h:i]jcd  lu^r  lover 
■would  desert  lier  after  awhile,  and  so  accomplish  her  piinishmeut ; 
but  he  AN  as  true  !  No,  I  can  never  forget  mv  mother's  agony  when  i 
was  torn  from  her  !"  he  rose  and  walked  to  t'he  window,  and  returned. 
*'Tlie  hideous  pictiu-e  had  grown  faint,"  he  said,  "  but  as  I  .'^peaic  it 
grows  clear  and  black  !  You  can  imagine  my  life  after  this  It 
was  well  calculated  to  turn  a  moody,  passionate  boA-  into  a  devil !  1 
was  nearly  eleven  Avhen  1  lost  my  mother,  and  I  neA-er  heard  of  her 
or  from  her  after  ;  yet  I  never  doubted  that  she  loved  me  and  tried 
to  communicate  Avith  me,  ])Ut  my  father's  infernal  spite  kept  us 
apart.    At  sixteen  1  ran  away.    Your  father  Avas  friendly  to  me  and. 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  307 

tried  to  persuade  mo  arainsfc  what  he  called  rashness  ;  but  I  always 
fancied  tie  might  have  liolptid  my  mother,  backed  lier  up  more,  and 
I  did  not  heed  him.  I  went  througli  a  rou.h  training",  as  you  may 
supix)se,  and  never  saw  my  father's  face  ag-ain." 

''  I  can  imagine  that  he  could  be  terrible,"  murmured  Katherine. 
"  I  was  dreadfully  afraid  of  him,  but  I  did  not  know  he  had  been  so 
cruel." 

Georg-e  Liddell  did  not  seem  to  hear  her,  he  was  lost  in  thoug-ht. 

"You  wonder,  I  daresay,  why  I  tell  you  this  long-  story,"  he  re- 
sumed ;  "you  will  see  what  it  l<'ads  up' to  presently.  ' 

"  I  am  g-reatly  interested,"  returned  Katherine.  [ 

"You  will  be  more  so!  From  what  I  told  Newton,  you  know  ' 
enough  of  my  career  in  Australia,  but  you  do  not  know  that  I  mar- 
ried a  sweet,  delicate  woman,  who.  after  the  birth  of  our  little  Marie, 
fell  into  bad  health.  If  I  could  have  taken  her  aAvay  for  a  long-  voy- 
age, it  mig-ht  have  saved  her,  but  I  was  in  full  swing-  making-  my 
pile,  and  could  not  tear  myself  a^^  ay  ;  that  must  have  been  about 
the  time  my  father  died.  Had  I  knmvn  I  was  his  heir,  I  should 
have  sent  my  wife  home.  But  fool  that  I  was  !  I  ^  ■;: :  too  wrapped 
up  making-  money  (for  the  tide  had  just  turned,  ami  I  was  floatinj^ 
to  fortune)  to  see  that  she  was  slipping-  fx'om  me.  I  never  dreamed 
my  father  would  die  intestate.  I  always  thought  he  would  take  care 
of'his  precious  g-old.    It  was  well  for  me  he  destroyed  his  Avill." 

Katherine  felt  her  cheeks  g-low  ;  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"  Well,  I  felt  furious  to  think  you  had  been  enjoying-  my  money 
when  I  did  not  even  know  that  my  father  was  dead  ;  but  I  have 
changed. " 

"  Why?"  asked  Katherine,  who  could  not  imagine  what  was  his 
motive  for  telling  her  his  history. 

"  You  shall  hear.  Y'ou  know  I  placed  my  little  Marie  at  school. 
The  school-mistress  employed  a  dressmaker  to  whom  the  child  took 
a  fancy  ;  she  insisted  on  taking  me  to  see  her,  and  to  choose  some 
fal-lals."  He  stopped  again,  his  mouth  twitched,  his  lingers  played 
with  his  watch-chain.  "When  the  young  woman  came  into  the 
room,"  he  resumed,  "I  thought  I  should  have  dropped.  She  was 
the  living  image  of  my  poor  mother,  onl^r  younger.  I  could  not 
speak  for  a  minute.  At  last,  when  the  child  had  kissed  her  and 
chatted  a  bit,  I  managed  to  ask  if  I  might  come  back  and  speak  to 
her  alone,  as  she  was  so  like  a  lady  I  once  knew,  that  I  w^anted 
to  put  a  few  questions  to  her.  She  seemed  a  little  disturbed  ;  but 
told  me  I  might  come  in  the  evening.  I  went.  I  asked  her  about 
her  parentage  ;  she  knew  very  little,  save  that  she  had  been  b  rn 
in  South  America.    She  o!1'ered,  however,  to  show  me  her  mothers 

{)icture,  and,  when  she  l)rought  it,  I  not  only  saw  it  was  /in/  motii.'r's 
ikeness,  but  a  picture  I  knew  well.  Her  initials  were  on  the  case, 
R.  L.  Then  1  told  her  everything.  I  proved  to  her  that  I  was  lier 
half-brother.  How  bitterly"  she  cried  when  I  describal  a  little 
brooch  with  my  hair  in  it,  which  Rachel  still  keeps.  She  has 
seen  our  mother  kiss  it  and  weep  over  it.  My  heart  went  out  to 
her  ;  she  is  second  now  only  to  my  child.  Then,  Katherine,  she  told 
me  her  own  sad  story,  and  the  part  you  played  in  it.  How  you 
saved  her,  and  gave  her  hope  and  strength.    Give  me  your  hand  ! 


308  '  '  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

I'll  never  forg-et  this  service.  It  binds  me  more,  a  hundredfold 
more,  than  if  you  had  done  it  for  mvsolf.  But  neither  entreaties 
nor  reproaches  "could  induce  her  to  teFl  me  the  name  of  the  villain 
who— has  she  told  youy"  he  interrupted  himself  to  ask  sternly. 

"She  never  named  his  name  to  me,"  cried  Katherine.  ""It  is 
cruel  to  ask  her.  And  of  what  possilile  advanta^-e  would  tin  l-now- 
ledge  be?    Any  inquiry,  any  disturbance,  would  oi;ly  punish  her." 

Liddcll  started  up,  and  walked  to  and  fro  hastily.  "''  That's  true," 
he  exclaimed  ;  "  but  I  wish  I  had  my  hand  on  his  throat." 

"That  is  natural  ;  but  you  mu.st  think  of  Rachel,  she  has  suffered 
so  much." 

"She  has!"  said  Georg-e  Liddcll,  throwing  himself  into  his  chair 
ag-ain.  "But  you  don't  know  the  sort  of  pain  and  sweetness  it  is  to 
talk  of  my  poor  mother  to  her  daug-hter  !  It  makes  a  difierent  and 
a  better  man  of  me.  Rachel  is  a  strong"  woman,"  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  thought  ;  "  she  Avishes  our  relationship  to  be  kept  secret. 
It  is  no  credit  to  anyone,  she  says,  and  mig-ht  be  injurious  to  little 
Marie  ;  we  can  be  friends,  and  she  need  never  want  a  few  hundreds 
to  help  on  her  business.  It  seems  that  to  please  his  people  her 
father,  on  returning"  to  England,  only  used  his  second  name,  which 
I  never  knew.  It  is  a  sorrowful  tale  for  you  to  listen  to— you  are 
white  and  trembling",  my  g"irl,"  he  added,  with  sudden  familiarity, — 
"  but  I  haven't  done  yet ;  you  have  laid  me  under  oblig-ations  I  can 
never  repay.    I  could  not  offer  a  woman  like  you  money  ;  but  I  will 

f)ay  you  in  kind.  You  have  saved  mv  dear  sister,  I  will  provide 
or  tne  nephews  that  are  dear  to  you.  1  have  already  seen  Newton 
and  ray  own  solicitor,  and  laid  my  propositions  before  them.  I  don't 
pretenfl  to  munificence  for  them,  besides,  I  shall  not  forget  either 
you  or  them  in  my  will,  but  they  shall  have  means  for  a  ri""ht 
good  education  and  a  g'ood  start  m  life.  Now  I  want  you  to  tor- 
give  my  brutality  when  we  first  met,  and,  more,  I  want  you  to  be 
my  daughter's  friend."    He  grasped  her  hand. 

Katherine's  eyes  had  already  brimmed  over, 

"Forgive  you !'' she  repeated.  "  I  am  quite  ready  to  forgive.  I 
was  vexed,  of  course,  that  you  should  be  unreasonably  prejudiced 
against  me;  but  I  am  deeply  gratefxil  for  your  generosity  to  the 
boys.  If  you  knew  the  joy,  the  relief  you  haVe  given  me,  it  would, 
I  am  sure,  gladden  you.  But  let  us  try  to  make  Rachel  happy  too. 
I  wish " 

"She  is  happiest  in  her  own  way.  Work  is  the  only  cure  for  ills 
like  hers,"  interrupted  Liddell.  "Time  will  do  wonders,  and  her 
wish  So  keep  our  relationship  secret  is  wise."  There  was  a  pause  ; 
then  Liddell,  looking  stealily  at  Katherine,  exclaimed,  "You  are  a 
real  true,  good-hearted  woman;  the  world  would  be  a  better  place  if 
there  were  a  few  more  like  you  in  it."  He  then  passed  on  to  his 
plans  for  the  future;  his  projects  for  his  daughter's  education, 
opening  his  mind  with  a  degree  of  confidence  Avhich  amazed  Kathet' 
ine,  considering  that  two  days  before  he  was  an  enemy. 

Presently  he  ceased  to  speak,  and,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
st©od  up. 

"  Now  I  have  said  my  say,  and  I  must  go,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
only  came  to  explain  myself  to  you,  for  the  less  of  such  a  story  com- 


CROOKED  r/  TH.  *  ^  309 

mitted  to  paper  tii„  ,  .  -i.  i  am  a..t,  la  town  to-morrow  morning; 
write  to  Rachel,  ana  come  and  see  her  as  soon  as  you  can.  1  wish," 
he  added,  with  a  searching-  g-lance,  "  that  I  had  a  woman  lil^e  vou  to 
regulate  masters  and  take  care  of  my  little  Marie;  then  I  could  keep 
lierwithme." 

"She  is  far  better  at  school."  returned  Katherine,  a  little  startled 
by  this  suggestive  speech.  '-iBut  will  you  not  have  some  luncheon 
before  you  go  ?" 

"  No,  thank  3'ou.  I  had  some  before  coming  on  here.  I  need 
very  little  food,  and  scarcely  anything  gives  me  pleasure;  but  I  like 
you,  my  cousin,  and  I  want  your  friendship  for  the  child." 

"She  shall  have  it,  I  promise." 

After  a  few  more  words,  George  Liddell  bid  her  goodbye.  She  stood 
a  few  minutes  in  deep  thought  before  going  to  tell  her  good  news  to 
Miss  Payne,  reilectingthat  she  must  no:  betray  the  real  motive  of  his 
change  towards  herself;  the  less  she  said  the  better.  While  she 
thought,  Miss  Payne  came  in  looking  unusually  eager. 

"  Wouldn't  he  stay  and  have  a  bit  to  eat.'"'  she  exclaimed.  *'  I 
saw  him  going  out  of  the  gate  from  my  room." 

"No,  he  is  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  "to  town.  Ah'  my  dear  Miss 
Payne,  he  came  down  to  make  his  peace  with  me,  and  he  is  going  to 
provide  for  the  boys."' 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  to  him?  lean  hardly  believe  my 
ears." 

"I  am  sure  I  could  hardly  believe  mine.  I  suppose  as  he  grew 
accustomed  to  feel  that  everything  was  in  his  hands,  and  that  I  had 
given  him  no  trouble,  he  saw  that  he  had  been  unnecessarily  severe. 
Then  his  little  girl  took  him  to  Rachel  Trant's,  and  they  evidently 
spoke  of  me  ;  probably  she  gave  a  highlv  colored  description  of  my 
goodness,  and,  being  an  impulsive  man,  lie  said  he  would  come  and 
see  me,  whereupon  she  wrote  to  warn  me." 

"  That's  all  possible;  but  somehow  I  feel  there  is  more  in  it  than  I 
quite  understand." 

"lam  sure  I  do  not  care  to  understand  the  wherefore,  if  only  my 
cousin  carries  out  his  good  intentions  as  regards  Cis  and  Charlie." 

"  Just  so;  that  is  the  main  point.  If  he  does,  what  a  burden  will 
be  lifted  ofY  your  shoulders  !" 

"And  what  a  change  in  the  boys'  fortunes  !"  retured  Katherine; 
adding,  after  a  short  pause,  "I  think  T  will  go  to  town  with  you  on 
Monday  and  pay  them  a  visit,  while  you  arrange  your  affairs  with 
your  tenant.    Mrs.  Needham  will  put  me  up  for  a  niuht  or  two.' 

In  truth,  Katherine  longed  to  see  and  talk  with  Rachel,  to  discugs 
the  curious  turn  in  her  changeful  fortunes,  and  build  up  pleasant 
palaces  in  the  airy  realms  of  the  future. 

The  following  day  brought  her  a  letter  from  De  Burgh.  It  was 
dated  from  Paris,  and  told  her  of  his  intention  to  be  absent  from 
England  for  some  time  ;  he  pleaded  earnestly  for  pardon  with  a  cer- 
tain rough  eloquence,  and  repeated  the  ar^-uments  he  had  previously 
urged,  evidently  thinking  that  his  punishment  was  greatly  dispro- 
portJoned  to  his  offence. 

Katherine  was  much  moved  by  this  epistle ;  she  could  not  help 
being  sorry  for  him,  though  she  hoped  not  to  meet  him  ag-ain.    Th» 


310  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

association  of  ideas  was  too  painful ;  she  was  ashamed  too  to  remem- 
ber how  near  she  had  come  to  marrying-  him,  in  a  sort  of  despair  of 
the  future.  She  answered  this  letter  at  once,  franl<ly  and  Icindly, 
setting"  forth  the  unalteralile  nature  of  lier  decision,  and  befrg-ing 
him  not  to  put  her  to  uniu'cossary  pain  by  trying  to  renew  their  ac- 
quaintance at  any  future  time. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  END. 

The  projec*;  of  going  to  town,  hov/ever,  was  not  carried  out.  Miss 
Payne  caught  a  severe  cold,  owing  to  the  unusual  circumstance  of 
having  forgotten  her  umbrella,  and,  in  consequence,  getting  wet 
through  by  a  sudden  heavy  shower. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  speeding  London-wards  on  Monday,  Miss 
Payne  spent  the  weary  hours  in  bed  with  a  raclcing  headache  and 
Katheriue  in  close  attendance. 

Next  day,  however,  she  was  considerably  better,  and  even  talked 
of  coming  downstairs  in  the  evening  when  the  house  Avas  shut  up. 
She  insisted  on  sending  her  kind  nurse  out  for  air  and  exercise,  as 
she  was  looking  pallid  and  heavy -eyed  ;  nor  was  Katharine  reluctant 
to  go,  for  she  enjoyed  being  alone  to  moditate  on  the  curious  inter- 
weaving of  fate's  wai'p  and  woof  which  had  made  Rachel  the  means 
of  recohcilia:ion  between  George  Liddell  and  herself.  She  ought 
now  to  take  up  her  life  again  with  courage  and  energy.  The  Ijoys 
provided  for,  she  had  nothing  to  fear,  while,  if  the  future  held  out  no 
brilliant  prospect  of  personal  happiness,  much  quiet  content  probably 
lay  in  the  huml)le  siiihciency  which  wa-;  now  hers.  The  interest  s\\q 
would  take  in  the  careers  of  Cis  and  Charlie  would  renew  her  youth, 
and  keep  her  in  touch  with  active  life,  while,  as  the  impression  of 
her  various  troubles  wore  away  under  the  swift-flowing-  stream 
of  time,  she  would  feel  more  and  more  the  restful  excellence  of 
peace.  It  was  not  a  bad  outlook,  ^-et  Katherine  felt  sad  as  she 
contemplated  it.  Finding-  her  self-commune  less  cheering  than  she 
anticipated,  she  turned  her  steps  homeward,  and  entered  the  hou.se 
through  the  window  of  the  drawing-room  which  opened  on  a  rustic 
veranda.  Coming  from  strong  sunlight  into  comparative  darkness, 
she  took  off  her  hat,  and  pushed  back  her  hair  from  her  brow  before 
she  perceived  that  a  gentleman  had  risen  from  the  chair  where  ho 
saft  reading. 

"  You  see  I  have  dared  to  take  possession  of  the  premises  in  j'our 
absence,"  he  said. 

"Mr.  Errington?"  cried  Katherine,  her  heart  suddenly  bounding, 
and  then  beating  so  violently  she  could  hardly  speak.  "  How — 
where— did  you  come  from  :■*" 

"From  London,  to  enjny  a  brief  breathing-space  from  pressure  of 
work— welcome  as  it  geiicfall  v  is  !  I  am  sorry  to  find  that  your  friend 
Mi.s.=  Payue  is  invalided,  as  she  was  not  visible,  I  ventured  to  wait 
foir|ou.*' 


'  A  CROOKED  PATH.  311 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  ix'turncd  Katherine,  placing  herself 
on  the  sofa  as  far  from  the  window  as  she  could,  for  she  felt  herself 
changing  color  in  a  pioN  oking  way. 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Needhani  yerterday,  who  gave  me  your  address  and 
sundry  messages,  one  to  the  effect  that  she  hopes  to  pay  you  a  visit 
next  Saturday;  the  rest  I  do  not  remember  accurately,  for  she  was 
much  excited  and  not  very  distinct." 

"  We  shall  be  delighted"  to  see  her,  she  is  so  bright  and  sympa- 
thetic.    What  was  the  immediate  cause  of  her  excitement  ?" 

"The  marriage  of  Miss  Bradley  in  about  a  fortnight." 

"Indeed  !"  cried  Katherine,  thinking  this  way  of  ainiouncing-  it 
rather  odd,  but  never  doubting  it  was  his  own  marriage  also. 
"Then  accept  my  warm  congratulations;  you  have  no  well-wisher 
more  sincere  than  myself." 

Errington  looked  up  surprised. 

"  Wliy  do  you  congratulate  me?  I  certainly  was  of  some  u.se  in 
bringing  it  about,  but  sooner  or  later  they  "would  certainly  have 
married." 

"  They  ?  who — whom  is  she  going  to  marry  ?" 

"  My  old  friend  Major  Urquhart.  It  is  a"^  very  old  attachment, 
but  Mr.  Bradley  objected  to  his  want  of  fortune  ;  then,  as  Bradley's 
wealth  increased,  tJrquhart  felt  reluctant  to  come  forward  again. 
Accident  revealed  the  state  of  the  case  to  me.  I  went  to  see 
Urquhart,  who  had  just  returned  from  India,  and  was  in  Edin- 
burgh. I  persuaded  him  to  return  with  m(!,  and  once  the  lovers 
met,  matters  swiftly  arran^-ed  themselves.  Finally,  Bradlev  gave 
his  consent.  Now  the  air  is  resonant  with  the  coming  chime  of 
wedding  bells." 

"I  am  greatly  surprised,"  said  Katherine,  and  it  was  some  min- 
utes before  she  could  speak  again.  Her  horizon  seemed  suddenly 
suff'used  with  light ;  she  felt  dizzy  with  a  straiige  delightful  glow, 
and  confused  with  a  sense  of  shame  at  her  own  unreasoning,  iri*a- 
tiorial  joy.  What  diiference  could  Errington's  marriag-e  or  no  mar- 
riage make  to  her?" 

"1  suppose,"  resumed  Errington,  after  looking  eai-nestly  at  her 
speaking  face,  "  that  the  intimacy  which  arose  between  Mr.  Brad- 
ley and  myself  in  consequence  of  my  comiection  with  The  Cucle  sug- 
gested the' rumor  of  my  engagement  with  his  daughter  ;  but  no  such 
idea  ever  entered  my  head  or  Angela's.  You  know,  I  suppose,  I 
am  now  de  facto  editor  of  77/v  Ciich.  It  i.s  a  good  appointment,  and 
enables  me  to  hope  for  possibilities,  though  I  dare  not  say  pro- 
babilities." 

"I  am  sure  you  will  be  an  admirable  editor,"  said  Katherine, 
pulling  herself  togetlier,  and  trying  to  speak  lightly. 

"Wliv?"  asked  Errington,  smiling. 

"  You  are  just,  and— and  careful,  and  must  be  a  good  judge  of  the 
subjects  such  a  periodical  trcsats  of." 

"Thank  you."  He  paused  ;  then,  looking  down,  he  continutMi, 
"Mrs.  Needham  tells  me  you  have  been  troubled  about  your 
nephews." 

"  Yes,  I  was  very  much  troubled,  but  I  think  they  a:  e  safe  and  well 
now;  later  I  should  put  them  to  a  better  schoolj  asl  now  hope  to  do.** 


312  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

She  stopped  to  think  how  she  should  best  explain  George  Liddell's 
unexpected  g-enerosity,  and  Errington  exclaimed. 

"  These  boys  are  a  h(;avy  charg-e  to  you !  yet  I  suppose  you  could 
not  bring-  yourself  to  g'ive"thera  up  V 

"How  could  I '!  their  mother  can  really  do  nothing"  for  them,  and 
it  would  be  cruel  to  hand  them  over  to  Colonel  Ormonde's  charity." 

"It  would  !  you  are  right,"  said  Erring-ton,  hastily.  "Poor  little 
fellows  !  to  lose  you  would  be  too  terrible  a  trial  for  them." 

Katharine  raised  her  eyes  to  his;  thev  were  moist  with  gratitude 
for  his  .s.mp  r!'  s\  and  seemed  to  draw  him  magnetically  to  her.  He 
changed  Ills  )  lace  to  the  sofa;  leaning  one  arm  on  the  back,  he 
rested  his  h  -.nd  on  his  hand,  and  looked  gravely  down  upon  her. 

"  Will  vou  forgive  me  if  I  ask  an  intrusive  question?  You  know 
we  agreed  to  be  friends,  j^et  our  friendship  does  not  seem  to  thrive, 
it  is  dying  of  starvation  because  we  so  rarely  meet;  still,  for  the 
sake  of  our  shadowy  friendship,  answer  me  :  may  I  put  the  natural 
construction  on  De  Burgh's  sudden  departure  from  England?" 

Kathsrine  hesitated;  she  did  not  like  to  savin  so  many  words  that 
she  had  refused  him,  a  curious,  half- remorseful  feeling  made  her 
especially  considerate  towards  him. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  spealv  of  Lord  de  Burgh,"  she  said  at  length. 

"  When  does  he  return? 

*'I  do  not  know.    I  know  nothing  of  his  plans." 

"Then  you  sent  him  empty  away  ?  '  said  Errington,  smiling. 

"I  very  nearly  married  him  !'  she  exclaimed,  frankly.  "He  wai 
kind  and  generous,  and  would  have  been  good  to  the  boys;  but  at 
last  I  could  not     Oh  !  I  could  not .'" 

"  I  am  sorry  for  De  Burgh,"  said  Errington,  thoughtfully,  "but 
you  were  right ;  your  wisdom  is  more  of  the  heart  than  the  head. 
Do  you  remember  that  day  (how  vividly  /  remember  it !)  when  you 
came  to  me  and  told  me  your  strange  story  ?  It  was  the  turning- 
point  of  my  life.  When  1  confessed  1  knew  nothing  of  the  deep, 
warm,  tender  affection  that  actuated  yon,  you  said  that  for  me 
"  wisdom  was  from  one  entrance  quite  shut  out." 

"  I  can  remember  nothing  clearly  of  that  dreadful  day,  only  that 
you  wei-e  very  forgiving-  and  good,"  i-eturned  Katherine,  pressing 
her  hands  together  to  still  their  trembling. 

"  Well,  from  the  moment  you  spoke  those  words,  the  light  of  the 
wisdom  you  meant  dawned  upon  me,  and  grew  stronger  and 
brightcr,"till  my  whole  being  was  flooded  with  the  love  you  inspired. 
You  opened  a  luiw  world  to  me  :  vour  voice  was  always  in  my  ears, 
your  eyes  looking-  into  mine."  He  spoke  in  a  low,  earnest,  but  com- 
posed tone,  as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  the  fullest  utterance. 
Katherine  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  with  the  unconscious 
instinct  to  hide  th,;  emotion  she  felt  it  would  express.  "  Many  things 
kept  me  silent.  Fear  that  the  sight  of  me  was  painful  to  you  ;  the 
dread  of  seeming  to  seek  your  fortune  ;  my  OAvn  uncertain  position. 
T'  n,  when  all  was  taken  from  j'ou,  and  I  was  by  my  own  act  de- 
prived of  the  power  to  help  you,  you  Avere  so  brave  and  patient  that 
Erofound  esteem  mingled  with  the  strange,  sweet,  wild  tire  you  had 
indled  !  Am  I  so  painfully  associated  m  your  mind  that  you  can- 
not give  me  something  of  the  wealth  of  love  stored  in  your  heart? 


A  CROOKED  PATH.  '     '  313 

You  have  taug^ht  me  what  love  is,  will  you  not  reward  so  apt  a 
pupil  ?"' 

"Mr.  Errino-ton,"  said  Katherine,  letting-  him  take  her  cold 
trembling  hand,  "is  it  possible  you  can  love  and  trust  a  woman 
who  has  acted  a  lie  for  years  as  I  have  ?'' 

"  1  cannot  help  both  loving-  and  trusting  you,  utterly,"  he  re- 
turned, holding  her  hand  tenderly  in  both  his  own.  "  I  believe  in 
your  truth  as  I  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  sun's  light,  and  if  you 
can  love  me  I  believe  I  can  make  you  happy.  I  have  but  a  humble 
lot  to  otter  you,  yet  I  think  it  is— it  will  be  a  tranquil  and  secure 
one.  I  can  help  you  in  bringing  up  those  boys,  I  will  never  quarrel 
with  you  for  clinging  to  them,  and  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  them  ! 
You  know  I.  have  a  creditor's  claim  ;  Roman  law  gave  the  debtor 
over  into  the  hands  of  the  creditdr,"  continued  Errington,  growinq- 
bolder  as  he  felt  how  her  hand  trembled  in  his  grasp  ;  "you  mxist 
pay  me  by  the  surrender  of  yourself,  by  accepting  a  life  for  a  life. 
Katherine " 

"Ah!  how  can  I  answer  you?  If  indeed  you  can  trust  and  re- 
spect me,  I  can  and  will  love  you  well,"  she  exclaimed,  with  the 
sweet  frankness  which  always  enchanted  him. 

"Will  you  love  me  with  the  whole  unstinted  love  of  your  rich 
nature?    I  cannot  spare  a  grain,"  said  Errington,  jealously. 

"But  I  do  love  you,"  murmured  Katherine;  "I  am  almost 
frightened  at  loving  you  so  much." 

Could  it  be  cold,  coui  posed,  immovable  Errington  who  strained  her 
so  closjly  to  his  heart,  whose  lips  clung  so  passionately  to  hers? 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  you,"  began  Katherine,  when  she  had 
extricated  herself  and  recovered  some  composure.  "But  I  must  go 
and  see  poor  Miss  Payne  ;  she  will  wonder  what  has  become  of  me." 

"  Tell  ner  you  are  obliged  to  talk  to  me  of  business,  and  come  back 
soon.  I  have  much  to  consult  you  about,  and  I  can  only  remain  till 
to-morrow  evening— do  not  stay  away." 

And  Katherine  returned  very  soon. 

"Miss  Payne  is  dreadfully  puzzled,"  she  said,  smiling  and  blushing, 
quivering  in  every  vein  with  the  strange,  almost  awful  happiness 
which  overwhelmed  her. 

"Now,  what  have  you  to  tell  me?"  asked  Errington,  and  sha  gave 
him  a  full  description  of  George  Liddell's  visit  and  proposal  to  pro- 
vide for  Cis  and  Charlie. 

Errington  was  too  happy  to  heed  the  details  much,  he  only  re- 
marked that  he  was  glad  Liddell  had  come  to  his  right  mind. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  Miss  Payne  as  soon  as  possibiti  our  new  plans  ; 
she  is  coming  down-stairs  this  evening,  you  say  ?  Let  me  break  the 
news  to  her.  I  think  she  will  give  us  her  blessing  ;  and,  Katherine, 
my  sweet  Katherine,  there  is  no  reason  to  di'lay  our  marriage. 
You  have  no  iixed  home  :  the  sooner  you  make  one  for  yourself  and 
me  the  better.  The  idea  is  intoxicatmg.  Our  poverty  sets  us  free 
from  the  trammels  of  conventionality  ;  we  have  nothing  to  wait  for." 

So  they  were  married. 

Here  ought  to  come  "Finis!"  yet  real  life  had  only  begun  for  them. 
Were  they  happy  ?    Yes.    For  under  the  wild  sweetness  of  warmest, 


314  A  CROOKED  PATH. 

passionate  love  lay  the  lasting'  rock  ot  comprehension  and  genial 
companionship.  Fuller  knowledge  broug'ht  deeper  esteem,  and  the 
only  secret  Katherine  ever  kept  from  her  husband  was  the  true  his- 
toi'y  of  Rachel  Trant. 

A  severe  attack  of  fever,  brought  on  by  overstudy,  immediately 
after  Karherine's  marriag-e,  prevented  Bertie  Payne  from  carryings 
out  his  missionary  scheme.  He  was  reluctantly  obliged  to  put  up 
with  the  East-End  heathen,  "  who,"  as  Miss  Payne  observed,  "were 
bad  enough  to  satisfy  the  largest  appetite  for  sinnei's." 

There  his  faithful  sister  established  herself  to  make  a  home  for 
him,  renouncing  her  comfortable  West-End  abode,  and  finding 
ample  interest  in  the  pursuits  she  affected  to  treat  as  fads. 

''Altogether  ever\'thing  has  turned  out  in  the  most  extraordinary 
and  unexpected  manner,"  as  Mrs.  Ormonde  observed  to  Mrs.  Need- 
ham,  whom  she  encountered  at  one  of  Lady  Mary  Vincent's  recep- 
tions. "  Katherine  seems  quite  proud  to  settle  down  in  a  suburban 
villa  away  in  St.  John's  Wood  as  Mrs.  Errington,  while  she  might 
have  made  a  figure  at  court  as  Lady  de  Burgh.  By  the  way,  I  see 
your  friend,  Mrs.  Urquhart,  was  presented  at  the  last  drawing- 
room" 

"Yes,  and  was  one  of  the  handsomest  women  there. — But  I  don't 
suppose  Mrs.  Errington  ever  gives  a  thought  to  drawing-room  or 
Buckingham  Palace  balls.— You  see  she  is  in  a  way  always  at  court, 
for  her  king  is  always  beside  her,"  returned  Mrs.  Needham,  with  « 
becoming  smile.    "'Good-night,  Mrs.  Ormonde." 


SHB  SIHD 


By 

PAD  CLARKE 

TotheJiBBistanGrottoL^rary 


/ "-, 


DAB 


A     000  127  454     7 


DAD  GLARKB 

Ibllke  Jimnistan  Grotto  Lib: 


